Dream

Robb’s eyes fluttered open and he squinted at you, the sight of his messy auburn curls making your chest all warm.

“What time is it?” he rasped out and you shrugged.

“Early. It’s rather rude of him, is it not? He ignored her in front of everyone when they first got here. And then at the feast too.”

“Why are you—”

“And not only did he ignore her, he also humiliated her at the feast, in front of people!” you insisted. “Does he not like her at all, do you think?”

“You woke up at this hour to gossip?”

“We barely talked last night,” you whined, your shoulders dropping in defeat while he smirked.

“We were too busy to talk.”

“But I wanted to talk!” you insisted. “And now that you’re awake—”

“I’m not awake.” He threw his arm around your torso to pull you to his chest, coaxing a giggle out of you as you propped yourself up on your elbows.

“Is it not strange?” you asked. “I mean when they wed, everyone agreed that she was the most—” You shook him, making him groan again. “Robb, I don’t think you’re listening!”

“Gods be good…”

“Has your father said anything about them?”

“No.”

“How come you—” A squeal escaped you when he squeezed your butt still half asleep, but you reached back to grab his wrist. “Not now, focus! Why didn’t you ask?”

“Why would I ask?”

You rolled your eyes.

“I swear I will never understand men,” you grumbled. “How are you not curious? He doesn’t like her, it’s very surprising.”

“Is it?” he asked with a yawn and opened his eyes, then ran a hand over his face as if trying to get rid of the haze of sleep. “Of course he doesn’t like her, she’s not pleasant at all.”

“Maybe not to other people, but she probably was pleasant to him at least at first,” you said. “She must have tried. There is no way she did not.”

“I suppose sometimes it just doesn’t work.”

“Her family is powerful,” you insisted, counting with your fingers, “she’s beautiful, educated, fashionable—”

A chuckle escaped him. “I don’t think the king cares much about fashion.”  

“It helps still,” you commented. “I don’t know, the realm thinks she’s everything a queen is expected to be. And they have three children together, one would assume…”

“Hm?”

“How did he not eventually fall in love with her?”

He folded an arm under his head. “Maybe his love for Aunt Lyanna does not let him love anyone else.”

“It is rather odd, how every man has a different reaction to being left behind,” you muttered, heaving a sigh as you rested your chin on his chest, absentmindedly tracing his muscles. “The king wed and fathered children, but he still loves your aunt. And my father never recovered after my mother. No mistresses or wife, even though everyone kept pressuring him. It makes me wonder what she would think. Or what your aunt would think had she lived.”

If you hadn’t been so lost in your own thoughts, you would’ve noticed the silence falling upon the room, or his body tensing up.

“I guess there’s a reason why so many love ballads are sad,” you mused. “Heartbreak one way or another. That might be the one thing years cannot take away.”

He was so quiet that for half a minute you were convinced he had fallen asleep again. Yet, his deep voice that rumbled in his chest and vibrated underneath your palm didn’t sound sleepy at all when he finally spoke, the stern command almost taking you by surprise.

“You’re not allowed to do that.”

You lifted your head to blink up at him.

“Do what?”

“You’re not allowed to die before me.”   

You couldn’t stop your chortle. “Robb…”

“I’m serious. You cannot.”

“When it comes to longevity, the gods seem to favor men more,” you couldn’t help but point out. “Men die in battle in wartime. Women die in childbirth regardless of war or peace.”

His eyes found yours.

“Is that what you fear?” he asked quietly and you pinched your lips, trying to pick the right words.

“I don’t think fear is the right word for it,” you ended up saying. “I’m no fool, I know what happened to my mother was largely related to the very short time between the twins’ birth and mine.”

Silas and Arys had told you that. Upon hearing your septa talking about how motherhood came with a price and the childbirth was the ultimate sacrifice, Silas had said fuck off to her face, making you burst into laughter even with the fear churning your stomach.

“My sister will not be sacrificed just so that some prick somewhere can have an heir,” Silas had spat. “And she will be educated to minimize the danger. Stop filling her head with nonsense, unless you want my father to release you of your duties.”

Arys had been the one to tell you all about it; how it was of importance that one’s body was given enough time to rest.

“When you wed,” he had told you, “you’ll have many herbs at your disposal. We’re not letting you wed anyone who you might not like, but regardless of how much you might like your future husband, you are putting your own health first. Always. No babe is more important than you, and you’re not making the same mistake mother and father did. You will only have kids when you’re ready, and they will have at least 3 years between them, not like us.”

“We won’t…” Robb started, then paused and shook his head. “I would never put you through that.”

Nor were you going to put yourself through that. You were going to be very careful and take nothing for granted, because you knew how it went for your mother; she’d had such easy childbirths until you, and each time she had bounced back so fast that both she and your father were convinced nothing bad would happen.

So the gods had decided to prove to them otherwise.

“No,” you said in an attempt to sound more confident than you felt, willing yourself not to think about Arrana’s bad wish. “It won’t be like that for me.”

But there was still that danger.

Even if you did everything right, there was still that danger, for you and for every woman in the realm.

However, Robb was never going to hear that from you, not even with a blade to your throat. He wasn’t going to hear that, your own family wasn’t going to hear that, none of the Starks were going to hear that, none of your ladies-in-waiting or your maids were going to hear that.

The only person whom you had shared those concerns with was Margaery, and it was going to stay that way.

“Nothing bad is going to happen to me,” you added, desperate to disperse the gloomy air that felt almost suffocating around you. “Besides, no use worrying about any of that, only the gods know these things. Look at your own mother, she’s very healthy and she’s had five children so far—”

He pulled his brows together, confusion snapping him out of his own thoughts. “So far?”

Of course it worked.

“Well yes.” You shrugged your shoulders. “So far. You never know, they’re both still young—”

From the grimace twisting his handsome face, one would’ve thought you had spoken of something utterly unacceptable.

“Seven hells, don’t say that!”

A burst of laughter escaped you. “Robb, my love, I don’t know how to tell you this, but the fact that you have four other siblings—”

“That happened in the past!”

“Rickon is still little,” you argued. “And your mother and father are in love, anyone could see that. It’s normal!”

“It’s not normal,” he said, still grimacing while he motioned at the door. “He loves her from…from afar.”

“Mm, from up close. Very close, I’d say, because five kids is no duty—”

“From a respectable distance.”

“No to that also.”

He made a noise of disgust. “Can we stop talking about this? They’re too old to have a babe.”

“They’re not too old.”

“Fine, I’m too old to have a sibling,” he said, your laughter bouncing off the walls. “And I refuse to believe they would betray me like that.”

“Oh, such betrayal,” you said in an exaggerated manner, a hand on your chest. “Disaster, if you will.”

“Aye, it would be.”

You rolled your eyes at him while his gaze darted over your face, a frown pinching his forehead again.

“But you’ll be—” He swallowed thickly. “You’ll be fine, when…” 

He didn’t need to finish his sentence, you knew exactly what he was referring to. You turned your bracelet around your wrist, heaving a dramatic sigh.

“How about this?” you said. “You give me your word that you won’t die in war, and I’ll give you my word that nothing will happen to me in childbirth. That’s called diplomacy, if you’re too northern to recognize such concept.”

That managed to make him huff out a chuckle, though the haunted look in his eyes didn’t disappear, not completely. He nodded after a beat, reaching out to cradle your cheek in his palm.

“Very well,” he said. “I give you my word. Do you?”

You lifted yourself a little to brush your lips against his, his hand slipping from your cheek to the side of your neck. His other arm snaked around your waist to press you to his body, butterflies erupting in your stomach.

“I do,” you said, a smile warming your face. “See? Who said the north and the south can’t negotiate?”

All your ladies-in-waiting agreed that the queen had to have grown bitter in time, perhaps because of her husband, perhaps because of her responsibilities, and perhaps because she had fewer admirers now than when she first wed the king. You didn’t know the reason, nor did you say too much out loud, but you were more than aware that she did not look happy at any time, with the exception of when she was talking to her brother.

Well, one of them, at least. Her other brother, Tyrion had arrived in Winterfell nearing the end of last night’s feast, having spent the whole day in a brothel in Wintertown, so if you had to guess, he was going to get along well with Theon.

Robb was busy throughout the afternoon, and so were you. While he went on a hunt with his father and the king, you and some of your ladies-in-waiting were tasked with taking baskets of food and herbs to Wintertown per Lady Stark’s orders. As much as you liked going to Wintertown, you still wondered whether there were no servants left in the castle to do this exact task, but you managed to keep your mouth shut.

She was probably making sure everyone in Wintertown had seen you and talked to you, and this was a good way to make sure of that.

Or perhaps she was trying to keep you out of the queen’s sight after that little exchange of yours the other night, that could’ve been the reason as well.

Alys, Lyra and Wylla had gone into the other street, leaving you with Barbrey and Jorelle. It had taken you a much shorter time to give the baskets to all the houses you were supposed to visit, so now you were waiting for the others while you explored the market, making small talk with vendors as Barbrey and Jorelle trailed after you. This was yet another instance that you couldn’t help but note was different in here, because back in the south, the vendors sold many different types of jewelry seeing that it was popular among noble ladies. In the north, rather than jewelry, women embroidered their gowns with beads and intricate pieces of bronze, copper and ivory.

Perhaps you could use some of those on your cloaks at least.

“…And my cousin will visit Winterfell with her lord husband, and she’ll die when she sees me,” Barbrey chattered. “I doubt she believed me when I wrote to her to tell her I’m a lady-in-waiting. I’m planning to get a new gown and embroider it by the time she visits, she’ll be so jealous!”

You accidentally exchanged glances with Jorelle who looked like she was trying her hardest to keep herself from rolling her eyes at Barbrey.

“Her wedding was two years ago, and she had the audacity to criticize what I wore to it. And let me tell you, her wedding gown wasn’t so impressive either! Her lord husband is of House Flint, and her gown had eyes all over it, it looked so weird.”

You raised your brows. “Her gown had eyes?”

“House Flint’s words are Ever Vigilant,” Jorelle explained, “and their banner has a pair of eyes on it.”

“And it looked like she was wearing the banner itself,” Barbrey added. “Let’s see whose gown is better now. And also, if I may, I’m sure I’ll make a better marriage now that I’m—”

“Barbrey, did you see that vendor over there?” Jorelle cut her off. “I think they have more colorful beads over there, they’d look good on your purple gown.”

“You’re right!” Barbrey gasped. “My lady, may I—?”

“Please go ahead,” you said a bit quicker than intended, but Barbrey was too excited to notice that. She rushed to the stall Jorelle was pointing at, and Jorelle let out a breath.

“There. Some peace and quiet.”

You bit back a smile. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

 You sometimes wondered whether you would’ve been able to get along well with Jorelle if it weren’t for her family and her whole almost betrothal with Robb. She probably held some resentment for you, and you still felt rather threatened by her. Despite that, sometimes she reminded you of Margaery with the calm air around her that made it nearly impossible to see through her, but you cast the thought away from your mind, forcing yourself to look at the beads on the tray.

“These look nice,” you commented as you approached the counter. “Are you good at embroidery, Jorelle?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Not my absolute favorite, but yes.”

“What is your absolute favorite?”

“I like riding.”

Right.

Of course she liked riding.

“So do I,” you said, taking a couple of bronze pieces into your palm to inspect them. “Silk is faster than my horses back in the Reach, but I’m getting used to such speed.”

“Your brother gifted her to you, did he not?”

“Yes. Cliff.”

She stole a look at you.

“And you’re close with all your brothers?”

“Mm hm. Well, Silas is the one I’m closest with, and then the twins. Arys and Cliff left home quite early, so I see them very rarely. Mostly on my namedays and such.” You lifted your gaze from the pieces in your hand. “I think you’ve talked to Perceon?”

Jorelle blinked a couple of times, her cheeks betraying her nonchalant demeanor when they turned pink.

“Yes,” she said, making herself busy with the beads. “He was—he is very southern.”

“Dornish, more like.”

 A silence fell upon you and Jorelle nibbled on her lip, her eyes falling on Barbrey before turning to you.

“Can I ask you something?”

You put the bronze pieces back and grabbed a particularly shiny bead. “Of course.”

“Why did you…” she trailed off. “Why did you choose her to be among your ladies-in-waiting? After what Arrana has said?”

That question wasn’t about Barbrey, and you both knew it.

You had to give it to Jorelle, unlike other northerners, she did know how to be subtle. A bitter smile twitched your lips as you put the bead down, then reached for a thin silver chain, pretending to direct your attention on it.

“I’m very southern,” you said, your voice silky. “That’s one of the many cultural differences, I’ve found. Northerners are quite direct about alliances or enmity, but back in the south, it’s more complex than that. We’re taught to keep some people close, precisely because of lack of trust.”

She raised her brows, staring at you as if the remark had taken her by surprise.

“Ah,” she said after a beat, pressing her lips into a thin line. “I see.”

“My lady!” Wylla called out, making you look over your shoulder to see her approach you with Lyra and Alys following her. “We’re finished. Shall we go back?”

You thought for a moment, then shrugged your shoulders.

“Let’s stay a while longer,” you said, linking your arm through hers to lead her to the nearest stall. “I have plans for some of my cloaks, and I am in a desperate need of some beads.”

Much to your displeasure, you couldn’t see Robb for the rest of the day. He had been with his father and the king in the Wolfswood the entire day, and they hadn’t returned to the castle during dinner either, because of the king’s request to have their dinner in the woods like he and Lord Stark used to whenever they went hunting in their youth.

At least that was the explanation Robb mumbled into your ear when he joined you in bed at dawn, waking you up with kisses instead of going to sleep himself. At first you had assumed he would be too tired, especially after having spent the whole night in the woods, but you were soon proven wrong.

There were many things, you had found, that you loved when it came to marital bed. The act itself was pleasurable beyond words, Robb always made sure you enjoyed it every single time, unlike what that lady of the night had told you back in the Reach. You hadn’t even thought it possible before, but it made you fall in love with him even more, your heart so full of him that it sometimes made you worry whether there would be room for anything else. You enjoyed his kisses, his touch, his weight upon you, and, how he made you feel before and during, and after.

That was one of your favorite parts as well.

After.

How he held you until your trembling passed, with chaste kisses and the sweetest praises that made your stomach flutter happily. Even now, while you tried to catch your breath with his arm around you that pressed you tight against his chest, you felt half delirious, all thoughts but him shattered to different corners in your mind, impossible to put back together. He pressed a kiss on your damp forehead, his other hand brushing back your hair before he dipped his head and his lips found yours. You couldn’t decide if the fire that colored his cheeks was because of the heat of the room or the chase of pleasure more; a sheen of sweat making him glow under the sunlight spilling through the thin curtains around the bed. His curly auburn hair was a mess in the most handsome way, and the light in his eyes was so soft that you could swear your heart melted when he looked down at you with a fond smile, awakening your own.

You felt tired, and sore, and sticky all over, but most of all; completely and utterly happy.

“What are you thinking about?” you whispered while your fingertips traced his chest up and down, light as a feather.

“How pretty you are,” he said, the northern accent in his deep voice drawing a giddy giggle out of you before you brushed your lips against his.

“Right answer,” you said. “Especially after spending a whole day away from me.”

“It wasn’t by choice,” he grumbled. “I considered sneaking back into the castle like a common thief, more than once.”

The image his words conjured up in your mind was too funny for you to hold back your laughter. “Really?”

“My beautiful wife was in our bed waiting for me, and I was in the woods with a bunch of men.”

“But you were hunting,” you told him. “You love hunting.”

“Lamb, I promise you, there’s nothing I love more than this.” He motioned at your naked body, making you scrunch up your nose in embarrassment. “I was all but taken hostage. Just because the king doesn’t want to go back to his wife doesn’t mean he should assume the rest of us share that sentiment.”

…Was that—?

Was that Robb gossiping?

“Did he say that?”

“No, but he said something else while drunk,” he answered with a grimace, making your jaw drop. “I will not repeat those words to you, but he dislikes her even more than you assume.”

Very well, there was room for improvement there.

Not everyone could be a natural like you and Margaery, you’d teach him how to gossip in time.

“The queen drinks too,” you said. “I noticed it at the feast, and tonight’s dinner as well. Too much wine.”

“Might be the only thing they have in common.”

“Not the only thing, because she doesn’t like him either,” you said. “Have I told you the other night at the feast, she tried to give me advise, and then she said…”

“Hm?”

“She said she hopes we’ll be as happy as her and the king.”

Robb flicked his gaze up for a second with a scoff, the gesture so similar to the way you rolled your eyes whenever you were annoyed.

“She can keep hoping,” he said. “Seven hells, I can’t wait until they all leave.”

“But you don’t think—” You paused. “Do you think it was like that always?”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s rather bitter, and all my ladies-in-waiting have many ideas about the reason. The queen had a lot of admirers when she was young, and Lyra has this theory that when one who’s used to compliments grows old…” you trailed off. “I don’t believe time takes away beauty, but I don’t want to be bitter like that when I grow old.”

His fingertips traced shapes on your bare skin. “You won’t.”

“It worried me all day today.”

“It shouldn’t have.”

“But perhaps she wasn’t like that either at first, because—”

“You couldn’t be bitter if you tried, it’s not in you.” The corners of his mouth curled, the glint in his eye making you blink up at him in confusion. “And I would know, I was just in you.”

A gasp left you and you pushed at his shoulder, heat sweeping over your face like a firestorm.

“I’m talking about something of importance!” you whined when he caught your wrist, his laugh echoing in the room. “And you’re making jests—”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he cooed, though that mischievous smile of his betrayed the gentle tone of his voice. “I’m sorry. Come here.”

He pulled you to himself while you pouted at him, your brows knitted together in defiance. He bit back his grin, the pad of his thumb smoothing over the pinch of your frown before he cradled your cheek, his lips finding yours. That familiar warmth dripped down and down, a half sigh hitching in your throat as the kiss deepened, melting away your frustration along with every other thought that was plaguing your mind. Your eyes fluttered open when he nudged your nose with his, then pressed a kiss on the corner of your mouth, coaxing a giggle out of you.

“Jesting aside,” he said, the pleasant rumble of his voice vibrating under your palm resting on his chest. “It shouldn’t have worried you.”

“But what if you—”

“It shouldn’t have worried you, because there will never come a time when I look at you and not forget to breathe.”

Whatever you were going to say disappeared somewhere between your mind and your mouth while you gazed up at him, painfully aware of the lovesick smile on your face.

“And also,” he added, idly playing with your hair. “I meant it when I said you couldn’t if you tried. Your heart is too soft to be anything like her.”

That made your smile falter. You bit inside your cheek in deep thought, and when you spoke, your voice was almost too low to hear in the already quiet room:

“Everyone says life has a way of hardening hearts.”

He ran his knuckles down your spine as if trying to assure you.

“You entrusted me with yours to safekeep,” he murmured. “I will protect it from harm, for as long as I draw breath. Such fears will never come true, I promise.”

Tears rushed to your eyes out of nowhere but you blinked them away fast, desperate to swallow the lump in your throat. You captured his lips with yours, his hand slipping to your jaw to tilt your head, but you were both pulled out of the haze when someone pounded on the door, making you recoil in his arms.

“What?” Robb snapped at whoever it was behind the door. “What is it?”

It took you only a second to understand something was wrong.

Robb’s eyes fluttered open before he squinted at you, the sight of his messy auburn curls making your chest all warm.

“What time is it?” he rasped out and you shrugged.

“Early. It’s rather rude of him, is it not? He ignored her in front of everyone when they first got here. And then at the feast too.”

“Why are you—”

“And not only did he ignore her, he also humiliated her at the feast, in front of people!” you insisted. “Does he not like her at all, do you think?”

“You woke up at this hour to gossip?”

“We barely talked last night,” you whined, your shoulders dropping in defeat while he smirked.

“We were too busy to talk.”

“But I wanted to talk!” you insisted. “And now that you’re awake—”

“I’m not awake.” He threw his arm around your torso to pull you to his chest, coaxing a giggle out of you as you propped yourself up on your elbows.

“Is it not strange?” you asked. “I mean when they wed, everyone agreed that she was the most—” You shook him, making him groan again. “Robb, I don’t think you’re listening!”

“Gods be good…”

“Has your father said anything about them?”

“No.”

“How come you—” A squeal escaped you when he squeezed your butt still half asleep, but you reached back to grab his wrist. “Not now, focus! Why didn’t you ask?”

“Why would I ask?”

You rolled your eyes.

“I swear I will never understand men,” you grumbled. “How are you not curious? He doesn’t like her, it’s very surprising.”

“Is it?” he asked with a yawn and opened his eyes, then ran a hand over his face as if trying to get rid of the haze of sleep. “Of course he doesn’t like her, she’s not pleasant at all.”

“Maybe not to other people, but she probably was pleasant to him at least at first,” you said. “She must have tried. There is no way she did not.”

“I suppose sometimes it just doesn’t work.”

“Her family is powerful,” you insisted, counting with your fingers, “she’s beautiful, educated, fashionable—”

A chuckle escaped him. “I don’t think the king cares much about fashion.”  

“It helps still,” you commented. “I don’t know, the realm thinks she’s everything a queen is expected to be. And they have three children together, one would assume…”

“Hm?”

“How did he not eventually fall in love with her?”

He folded an arm under his head. “Maybe his love for Aunt Lyanna does not let him love anyone else.”

“It is rather odd, how every man has a different reaction to being left behind,” you muttered, heaving a sigh as you rested your chin on his chest, absentmindedly tracing his muscles. “The king wed and fathered children, but he still loves your aunt. And my father never recovered after my mother. No mistresses or wife, even though everyone kept pressuring him. It makes me wonder what she would think. Or what your aunt would think had she lived.”

If you hadn’t been so lost in your own thoughts, you would’ve noticed the silence falling upon the room, or his body tensing up.

“I guess there’s a reason why so many love ballads are sad,” you mused. “Heartbreak one way or another. That might be the one thing years cannot take away.”

He was so quiet that for half a minute you were convinced he had fallen asleep again. Yet, his deep voice that rumbled in his chest and vibrated underneath your palm didn’t sound sleepy at all when he finally spoke, the stern command almost taking you by surprise.

“You’re not allowed to do that.”

You lifted your head to blink up at him.

“Do what?”

“You’re not allowed to die before me.”   

You couldn’t stop your chortle. “Robb…”

“I’m serious. You cannot.”

“When it comes to longevity, the gods seem to favor men more,” you couldn’t help but point out. “Men die in battle in wartime. Women die in childbirth regardless of war or peace.”

His eyes found yours.

“Is that what you fear?” he asked quietly and you pinched your lips, trying to pick the right words.

“I don’t think fear is the right word for it,” you ended up saying. “I’m no fool, I know what happened to my mother was largely related to the very short time between the twins’ birth and mine.”

Silas and Arys had told you that. Upon hearing your septa talking about how motherhood came with a price and the childbirth was the ultimate sacrifice, Silas had said fuck off to her face, making you burst into laughter even with the fear churning your stomach.

“My sister will not be sacrificed just so that some prick somewhere can have an heir,” Silas had spat. “And she will be educated to minimize the danger. Stop filling her head with nonsense, unless you want my father to release you of your duties.”

Arys had been the one to tell you all about it; how it was of importance that one’s body was given enough time to rest.

“When you wed,” he had told you, “you’ll have many herbs at your disposal. We’re not letting you wed anyone who you might not like, but regardless of how much you might like your future husband, you are putting your own health first. Always. No babe is more important than you, and you’re not making the same mistake mother and father did. You will only have kids when you’re ready, and they will have at least 3 years between them, not like us.”

“We won’t…” Robb started, then paused and shook his head. “I would never put you through that.”

Nor were you going to put yourself through that. You were going to be very careful and take nothing for granted, because you knew how it went for your mother; she’d had such easy childbirths until you, and each time she had bounced back so fast that both she and your father were convinced nothing bad would happen.

So the gods had decided to prove to them otherwise.

“No,” you said in an attempt to sound more confident than you felt, willing yourself not to think about Arrana’s bad wish. “It won’t be like that for me.”

But there was still that danger.

Even if you did everything right, there was still that danger, for you and for every woman in the realm.

However, Robb was never going to hear that from you, not even with a blade to your throat. He wasn’t going to hear that, your own family wasn’t going to hear that, none of the Starks was going to hear that, none of your ladies-in-waiting or your maids was going to hear that.

The only person whom you had shared those concerns with was Margaery, and it was going to stay that way.

“Nothing bad is going to happen to me,” you added, desperate to disperse the gloomy air that felt almost suffocating around you. “Besides, no use worrying about any of that, only the gods know these things. Look at your own mother, she’s very healthy and she’s had five children so far—”

He pulled his brows together, confusion snapping him out of his own thoughts. “So far?”

Of course it worked.

“Well yes.” You shrugged your shoulders. “So far. You never know, they’re both still young—”

From the grimace twisting his handsome face, one would’ve thought you had spoken of something utterly unacceptable.

“Seven hells, don’t say that!”

A burst of laughter escaped you. “Robb, my love, I don’t know how to tell you this, but the fact that you have four other siblings—”

“That happened in the past!”

“Rickon is still little,” you argued. “And your mother and father are in love, anyone could see that. It’s normal!”

“It’s not normal,” he said, still grimacing while he motioned at the door. “He loves her from…from afar.”

“Mm, from up close. Very close, I’d say, because five kids is no duty—”

“From a respectable distance.”

“No to that also.”

He made a noise of disgust. “Can we stop talking about this? They’re too old to have a babe.”

“They’re not too old.”

“Fine, I’m too old to have a sibling,” he said, your laughter bouncing off the walls. “And I refuse to believe they would betray me like that.”

“Oh, such betrayal,” you said in an exaggerated manner, a hand on your chest. “Disaster, if you will.”

“Aye, it would be.”

You rolled your eyes at him while his gaze darted over your face, a frown pinching his forehead again.

“But you’ll be—” He swallowed thickly. “You’ll be fine, when…” 

He didn’t need to finish his sentence, you knew exactly what he was referring to. You turned your bracelet around your wrist, heaving a dramatic sigh.

“How about this?” you said. “You give me your word that you won’t die in war, and I’ll give you my word that nothing will happen to me in childbirth. That’s called diplomacy, if you’re too northern to recognize such concept.”

That managed to make him huff out a chuckle, though the haunted look in his eyes didn’t disappear, not completely. He nodded after a beat, reaching out to cradle your cheek in his palm.

“Very well,” he said. “I give you my word. Do you?”

You lifted yourself a little to brush your lips against his, his hand slipping from your cheek to the side of your neck. His other arm snaked around your waist to press you to his body, butterflies erupting in your stomach.

“I do,” you said, a smile warming your face. “See? Who said the north and the south can’t negotiate?”

All your ladies-in-waiting agreed that the queen had to have grown bitter in time, perhaps because of her husband, perhaps because of her responsibilities, and perhaps because she had fewer admirers now than when she first wed the king. You didn’t know the reason, nor did you say too much out loud, but you were more than aware that she did not look happy at any time, with the exception of when she was talking to her brother.

Well, one of them, at least. Her other brother, Tyrion had arrived in Winterfell nearing the end of last night’s feast, having spent the whole day in a brothel in Wintertown, so if you had to guess, he was going to get along well with Theon.

Robb was busy throughout the afternoon, and so were you. While he went on a hunt with his father and the king, you and some of your ladies-in-waiting were tasked with taking baskets of food and herbs to Wintertown per Lady Stark’s orders. As much as you liked going to Wintertown, you still wondered whether there were no servants left in the castle to do this exact task, but you managed to keep your mouth shut.

She was probably making sure everyone in Wintertown had seen you and talked to you, and this was a good way to make sure of that.

Or perhaps she was trying to keep you out of the queen’s sight after that little exchange of yours the other night, that could’ve been the reason as well.

Alys, Lyra and Wylla had gone into the other street, leaving you with Barbrey and Jorelle. It had taken you a much shorter time to give the baskets to all the houses you were supposed to visit, so now you were waiting for the others while you explored the market, making small talk with vendors as Barbrey and Jorelle trailed after you. This was yet another instance that you couldn’t help but note was different in here, because back in the south, the vendors sold many different types of jewelry seeing that it was popular among noble ladies. In the north, rather than jewelry, women embroidered their gowns with beads and intricate pieces of bronze, copper and ivory.

Perhaps you could use some of those on your cloaks at least.

“…And my cousin will visit Winterfell with her lord husband, and she’ll die when she sees me,” Barbrey chattered. “I doubt she believed me when I wrote to her to tell her I’m a lady-in-waiting. I’m planning to get a new gown and embroider it by the time she visits, she’ll be so jealous!”

You accidentally exchanged glances with Jorelle who looked like she was trying her hardest to keep herself from rolling her eyes at Barbrey.

“Her wedding was two years ago, and she had the audacity to criticize what I wore to it. And let me tell you, her wedding gown wasn’t so impressive either! Her lord husband is of House Flint, and her gown had eyes all over it, it looked so weird.”

You raised your brows. “Her gown had eyes?”

“House Flint’s words are Ever Vigilant,” Jorelle explained, “and their banner has a pair of eyes on it.”

“And it looked like she was wearing the banner itself,” Barbrey added. “Let’s see whose gown is better now. And also, if I may, I’m sure I’ll make a better marriage now that I’m—”

“Barbrey, did you see that vendor over there?” Jorelle cut her off. “I think they have more colorful beads over there, they’d look good on your purple gown.”

“You’re right!” Barbrey gasped. “My lady, may I—?”

“Please go ahead,” you said a bit quicker than intended, but Barbrey was too excited to notice that. She rushed to the stall Jorelle was pointing at, and Jorelle let out a breath.

“There. Some peace and quiet.”

You bit back a smile. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

 You sometimes wondered whether you would’ve been able to get along well with Jorelle if it weren’t for her family and her whole almost betrothal with Robb. She probably held some resentment for you, and you still felt rather threatened by her. Despite that, sometimes she reminded you of Margaery with the calm air around her that made it nearly impossible to see through her, but you cast the thought away from your mind, forcing yourself to look at the beads on the tray.

“These look nice,” you commented as you approached the counter. “Are you good at embroidery, Jorelle?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Not my absolute favorite, but yes.”

“What is your absolute favorite?”

“I like riding.”

Right.

Of course she liked riding.

“So do I,” you said, taking a couple of bronze pieces into your palm to inspect them. “Silk is faster than my horses back in the Reach, but I’m getting used to such speed.”

“Your brother gifted her to you, did he not?”

“Yes. Cliff.”

She stole a look at you.

“And you’re close with all your brothers?”

“Mm hm. Well, Silas is the one I’m closest with, and then the twins. Arys and Cliff left home quite early, so I see them very rarely. Mostly on my namedays and such.” You lifted your gaze from the pieces in your hand. “I think you’ve talked to Perceon?”

Jorelle blinked a couple of times, her cheeks betraying her nonchalant demeanor when they turned pink.

“Yes,” she said, making herself busy with the beads. “He was—he is very southern.”

“Dornish, more like.”

 A silence fell upon you and Jorelle nibbled on her lip, her eyes falling on Barbrey before turning to you.

“Can I ask you something?”

You put the bronze pieces back and grabbed a particularly shiny bead. “Of course.”

“Why did you…” she trailed off. “Why did you choose her to be among your ladies-in-waiting? After what Arrana has said?”

That question wasn’t about Barbrey, and you both knew it.

You had to give it to Jorelle, unlike other northerners, she did know how to be subtle. A bitter smile twitched your lips as you put the bead down, then reached for a thin silver chain, pretending to direct your attention on it.

“I’m very southern,” you said, your voice silky. “That’s one of the many cultural differences, I’ve found. Northerners are quite direct about alliances or enmity, but back in the south, it’s more complex than that. We’re taught to keep some people close, precisely because of lack of trust.”

She raised her brows, staring at you as if the remark had taken her by surprise.

“Ah,” she said after a beat, pressing her lips into a thin line. “I see.”

“My lady!” Wylla called out, making you look over your shoulder to see her approach you with Lyra and Alys following her. “We’re finished. Shall we go back?”

You thought for a moment, then shrugged your shoulders.

“Let’s stay a while longer,” you said, linking your arm through hers to lead her to the nearest stall. “I have plans for some of my cloaks, and I am in a desperate need of some beads.”

Much to your displeasure, you couldn’t see Robb for the rest of the day. He had been with his father and the king in the Wolfswood the entire day, and they hadn’t returned to the castle during dinner either, because of the king’s request to have their dinner in the woods like he and Lord Stark used to whenever they went hunting in their youth.

At least that was the explanation Robb mumbled into your ear when he joined you in bed at dawn, waking you up with kisses instead of going to sleep himself. At first you had assumed he would be too tired, especially after having spent the whole night in the woods, but you were soon proven wrong.

There were many things, you had found, that you loved when it came to marital bed. The act itself was pleasurable beyond words, Robb always made sure you enjoyed it every single time, unlike what that lady of the night had told you back in the Reach. You hadn’t even thought it possible before, but it made you fall in love with him even more, your heart so full of him that it sometimes made you worry whether there would be room for anything else. You enjoyed his kisses, his touch, his weight upon you, and, how he made you feel before and during, and after.

That was one of your favorite parts as well.

After.

How he held you until your trembling passed, with chaste kisses and the sweetest praises that made your stomach flutter happily. Even now, while you tried to catch your breath with his arm around you that pressed you tight against his chest, you felt half delirious, all thoughts but him shattered to different corners in your mind, impossible to put back together. He pressed a kiss on your damp forehead, his other hand brushing back your hair before he dipped his head and his lips found yours. You couldn’t decide if the fire that colored his cheeks was because of the heat of the room or the chase of pleasure more; a sheen of sweat making him glow under the sunlight spilling through the thin curtains around the bed. His curly auburn hair was a mess in the most handsome way, and the light in his eyes was so soft that you could swear your heart melted when he looked down at you with a fond smile, awakening your own.

You felt tired, and sore, and sticky all over, but most of all; completely and utterly happy.

“What are you thinking about?” you whispered while your fingertips traced his chest up and down, light as a feather.

“How pretty you are,” he said, the northern accent in his deep voice drawing a giddy giggle out of you before you brushed your lips against his.

“Right answer,” you said. “Especially after spending a whole day away from me.”

“It wasn’t by choice,” he grumbled. “I considered sneaking back into the castle like a common thief, more than once.”

The image his words conjured up in your mind was too funny for you to hold back your laughter. “Really?”

“My beautiful wife was in our bed waiting for me, and I was in the woods with a bunch of men.”

“But you were hunting,” you told him. “You love hunting.”

“Lamb, I promise you, there’s nothing I love more than this.” He motioned at your naked body, making you scrunch up your nose in embarrassment. “I was all but taken hostage. Just because the king doesn’t want to go back to his wife doesn’t mean he should just assume the rest of us share that sentiment.”

…Was that—?

Was that Robb gossiping?

“Did he say that?”

“No, but he said something else while drunk,” he answered with a grimace, making your jaw drop. “I will not repeat those words to you, but he dislikes her even more than you assume.”

Very well, there was room for improvement there.

Not everyone could be a natural like you and Margaery, you’d teach him how to gossip in time.

“The queen drinks too,” you said. “I noticed it at the feast, and tonight’s dinner as well. Too much wine.”

“Might be the only thing they have in common.”

“Not the only thing, because she doesn’t like him either,” you said. “Have I told you the other night at the feast, she tried to give me advise, and then she said…”

“Hm?”

“She said she hopes we’ll be as happy as her and the king.”

Robb flicked his gaze up for a second with a scoff, the gesture so similar to the way you rolled your eyes whenever you were annoyed.

“She can keep hoping,” he said. “Seven hells, I can’t wait until they all leave.”

“But you don’t think—” You paused. “Do you think it was like that always?”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s rather bitter, and all my ladies-in-waiting have many ideas about the reason. The queen had a lot of admirers when she was young, and Lyra has this theory that when one who’s used to compliments grows old…” you trailed off. “I don’t believe time takes away beauty, but I don’t want to be bitter like that when I grow old.”

His fingertips traced shapes on your bare skin. “You won’t.”

“It worried me all day today.”

“It shouldn’t have.”

“But perhaps she wasn’t like that either at first, because—”

“You couldn’t be bitter if you tried, it’s not in you.” The corners of his mouth curled, the glint in his eye making you blink up at him in confusion. “And I would know, I was just in you.”

A gasp left you and you pushed at his shoulder, heat sweeping over your face like a firestorm.

“I’m talking about something of importance!” you whined when he caught your wrist, his laugh echoing in the room. “And you’re making jests—”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he cooed, though that mischievous smile of his betrayed the gentle tone of his voice. “I’m sorry. Come here.”

He pulled you to himself while you pouted at him, your brows knitted together in defiance. He bit back his grin, the pad of his thumb smoothing over the pinch of your frown before he cradled your cheek, his lips finding yours. That familiar warmth dripped down and down, a half sigh hitching in your throat as the kiss deepened, melting away your frustration along with every other thought that was plaguing your mind. Your eyes fluttered open when he nudged your nose with his, then pressed a kiss on the corner of your mouth, coaxing a giggle out of you.

“Jesting aside,” he said, the pleasant rumble of his voice vibrating under your palm resting on his chest. “It shouldn’t have worried you.”

“But what if you—”

“It shouldn’t have worried you, because there will never come a time when I look at you and not forget to breathe.”

Whatever you were going to say disappeared somewhere between your mind and your mouth while you gazed up at him, painfully aware of the lovesick smile on your face.

“And also,” he added, idly playing with your hair. “I meant it when I said you couldn’t if you tried. Your heart is too soft to be anything like her.”

That made your smile falter. You bit inside your cheek in deep thought, and when you spoke, your voice was almost too low to hear in the already quiet room:

“Everyone says life has a way of hardening hearts.”

He ran his knuckles down your spine as if trying to assure you.

“You entrusted me with yours to safekeep,” he murmured. “I will protect it from harm, for as long as I draw breath. Such fears will never come true, I promise.”

Tears rushed to your eyes out of nowhere but you blinked them away fast, desperate to swallow the lump in your throat. You captured his lips with yours, his hand slipping to your jaw to tilt your head, but you were both pulled out of the haze when someone pounded on the door, making you recoil in his arms.

“What?” Robb snapped at whoever it was behind the door. “What is it?”

It took you only a second to understand something was wrong.

You were trying to choose between two pairs of earrings when Robb walked into your bedchambers, and you had to do a double-take to realize it was not a stranger who barged in, but your husband. You gasped, your hands shooting up to cover your mouth.

“What happened to your beard?!”

“My mother made me shave it,” he grumbled while you gawked at him. “For the king’s arrival.”

You had never seen Robb without a beard; he always had either a stubble or a very short beard, so this was the first time you were seeing him clean-shaven. Though he was handsome as always with his sharp jawline which was even more prominent without a beard, the sight felt rather strange to you, and it took you a couple of seconds to understand the reason. A huff of laughter escaped you, muffled by your hands before you lowered them.

“You look like a Reach knight!”

The way his expression turned from annoyed to complete and utter betrayal could’ve made a simple observer think you had just insulted him. He let out a displeased exhale through his nose, then strode past you to approach your mirror like it could magically grow his beard back if he glared at his reflection hard enough.

“I do not understand why she insists so much,” he mumbled while you tilted your head, watching him in the mirror with your arms crossed. “A northman cannot be without his beard, it’s just not right.” 

You covered your laughter by clearing your throat and plopped down on the bed, a grin curling your lips.

“Recite me a poem,” you demanded, and he turned around to scowl at you.

“I don’t know any.”

“You look like you do,” you said airily. “Can you sing, at least? Play any instruments? Almost every knight in the Reach can.”

“I’m no Reach knight,” he grumbled. “And it’ll grow back.”

“Are you saying that to me or yourself?”

He took another look at his reflection, running a hand over his face.

“I look like a boy.”

“A handsome Reach boy,” you chirped, earning an annoyed glare in return.  

“Don’t.”

You held up your hands in a mock of surrender before you pushed yourself off the bed.

“Well, I must go,” you said. “Lady Stark needed me today, so I’ll leave you and my mirror alone.”

“Wait—” He caught up with you to grab your wrist so that he could pull you closer, drawing a giggle out of you. You playfully slipped your wrist out of his grasp with a gasp, feigning shock.

“I’m very offended by you daring to believe I’d kiss you,” you said with a hand on your chest. “As handsome as you are, I’ll have you know I’m very loyal to my husband.”

“I am your husband!”

You made a noise of disagreement.

“My husband has a beard,” you pointed out, taking a step back. “You appear to be one of the knights who used to follow me around in the ballroom begging for a dance.”

Well, that wasn’t entirely true; none of those knights were as handsome as Robb was, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Learn a poem in the meantime,” you told him, walking backwards to the door. “Or grow your beard back. Whichever is faster.”

With that, you walked out of the room and left him there, your laughter echoing in the hallway.

Though you both had very different trainings, it was times like these you could see that Lady Stark was in fact raised in the south.

Being the lady of the castle—especially when the said castle was Winterfell—came with so many responsibilities. Hosting guests was not only duty but also an art, which she pulled off flawlessly, even before the guests were there. The bedchambers, the feast, the entertainment, it was all ready the moment you got the news that the king would be arriving today. There were direwolf banners hanging in and outside the castle, and by the time you and the Starks gathered in the yard, you could already hear the sound of the horses approaching.

You had picked a pearly gray silk gown for the day, to blend in with the rest of the family, with your pelt thrown over your shoulders. Jon wasn’t allowed to stand with the family per Lady Stark’s orders, and it had put Robb in a rather sullen mood that he only snapped out of at the sight of Arya rushing to cross the yard with a helmet on her head. Lord Stark quickly pulled it off of her head and sent her to go stand between Sansa and Bran. You were right beside Robb, your hand in his while he caressed the back of your hand with his thumb almost absentmindedly, making you bite back a smile before you looked over your shoulder to steal a glance at your ladies-in-waiting in the crowd.

You hadn’t met the king or the queen before, and it had been on purpose, thanks to Silas and your father. The king’s many affairs with other women was not unheard of throughout the realm, and two years ago, around the time that title of yours started being thrown around, he and the queen had visited the Reach. A week before that, per Silas’ counsel and your father’s orders, you weren’t allowed to go outside so that when you missed the feast in King’s honor, the whole Reach thought you had been too sick to join any feast the whole week. The reason was simple; neither your father nor Silas wanted to risk the possibility of you catching the king’s interest, seeing that if you did, there would be so little that they could do except send you to Dorne to keep you safe and away from the most powerful man of the realm.

Though many families in the Reach would be delighted at the idea of their daughter catching the king’s eye and elevating their status, your family loved you way too much to put you in a situation where you would be forced to be a mistress.

But thankfully, you were safe now.

Not that the married women were safe in the southern court, especially from the king. However, you were Robb’s wife now, the future Lady of Winterfell, and nobody, not even the king, could risk the wrath of House Stark and the North by crossing a line.

You were probably the safest lady in the whole realm.

You snapped out of your thoughts when the horsemen passed the gates and entered the yard, a young boy that could only be a couple years older than Sansa—the prince, if you had to guess— at the front. Sansa sighed beside you, making Robb turn to her and then frown at the boy who gave Sansa a smirk, and you had to bite back your smile.

Of course Sansa would admire the prince.

The queen’s carriage entered the yard as well, followed by the Kingsguard and the king, whom you only recognized because of the crown. He was a heavy man with a serious look on his face, his eyes darting around the yard as his horse stopped and his squire rushed to help him dismount. Lord Stark bent a knee, the rest of the family and the whole yard following him suit, and it was only when the king motioned at him to rise that he stood up, all of you doing the same.

The king held Lord Stark’s gaze. “You got fat.”

You blinked a couple of times, holding your breath to see what Lord Stark would say, but he only lowered his eyes to the king’s stomach before raising his brows at him, as if returning the statement without so much as a word. The king burst into laughter, making Lord Stark smile as well before he pulled him into a hug.

…Gods, you were never going to understand men’s humor or their idea of friendship.

“Cat!” he greeted Lady Stark with a happy smile, hugging her as well. Sansa was still staring at the prince, and you leaned closer to her so that Robb couldn’t hear your whisper.

“You might want to pretend to be a little more nonchalant, my sweet.”

Sansa gave you an abashed smile while the king and Lord Stark exchanged words.

“Do you think he finds me beautiful?”

“Of course he does,” you whispered back, watching the queen step out of the carriage. She was beautiful, the displeasure on her face wasn’t enough to take away from it, and she looked around the yard before her eyes stopped on you.

“You must be Robb.” The king shook Robb’s hand before his eyes found you. “And the newest member of the family, I assume. The tales of your beauty weren’t lying, my lady.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” you accepted the compliment with a well-practiced graceful smile. The queen approached Lord Stark who kissed her hand, but everyone’s attention turned to the king in a second when he spoke:

“Take me to your crypt, I want to pay my respects.”

“We’ve been riding for a month, my love,” the queen said kindly, and you had to wonder for a second whether everyone else could hear just how forced it sounded or just you. “Surely the dead can wait.”

The king didn’t even spare her a glance.

“Ned,” he said curtly before he walked away, and Lord Stark followed him into the Keep.

…Ah.

The crypt.

Where Lord Stark’s sister who was also the king’s alleged true love laid in her eternal sleep.

The Queen looked like she wanted to argue, but her brother touched her arm as if signaling her to stop talking, and you averted your eyes, making yourself busy with your bracelet.

It was one of the many things you and Margaery were taught when you were little.

If someone above your rank was insulted or ignored in front of you, you never saw it.

Lord Stark and the king spent almost an hour in the crypts while the queen retired to her bedchambers to rest. It seemed that Lord Stark had much to speak with the king, because Robb had come to find you in the yard around an hour before the feast, clearly released from his father’s solar. You quickly dismissed your ladies-in-waiting so that you could speak freely at the far corner of the yard, and to be completely honest, the way you two sat was not appropriate at all; rather than sitting across from one another, you had your back against his chest, his arms wrapped around you while he nuzzled to your hair.

It had been rather peaceful, at least until a moment ago.

“A betrothal?” you repeated, craning your neck to look up at him. “Between Sansa and…”

“Prince Joffrey,” Robb finished your sentence for you, letting out a displeased noise as you pulled out of his arms to turn to see him better. “Don’t—”

“And Lord Stark said yes?”

“Sansa would cry for the rest of her life if he did not,” Robb said with a grimace. “She is in love already, and they haven’t even talked to each other yet. My mother talked my father into it, he will take the girls with him when he goes to King’s Landing to be the Hand.”

A frown pinched your forehead while Robb’s fingers drew shapes in your palm absentmindedly.

“Robb, I don’t think…”

Gods, how were you going to approach this?

You had to walk a very thin line here. You couldn’t risk anyone think you were trying to sabotage Sansa’s future, especially when the root of your worries was her future. Sansa was the sweetest girl ever, and you were certain she would grow up to be the loveliest lady and queen, but it was because of that you weren’t as excited as Lady Stark about this union.

Sansa was too sweet and naive for King’s Landing.

Not to mention, you knew nearly nothing about Prince Joffrey. There was a reason why it had taken Silas so much time to make a decision about your husband, marriage couldn’t be decided in a haste. Granted the king and Lord Stark were friends, but it didn’t mean their children would form a good union, and the moment they wed, Sansa would be bound to Prince Joffrey forever, regardless of how strong her house was.

And this was yet another time you were thankful to the gods for Silas and the rest of your family.

Those rules didn’t apply to you.

“What is it?” Robb asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. You opened your mouth and closed it again, then took a deep breath.

“Sansa is very young still.”

“Oh they won’t wed right away,” Robb said. “They’ll wait until my father deems it the right time. Sansa will just be in King’s Landing in the meantime, with Arya.”

You stole a look at the rest of the yard, deep in thought.

“Well, perhaps…” You paused. “Perhaps if they won’t wed right away, Sansa could stay here a bit longer so that I can teach her things.”

“Like what?”

“Like how to survive in the southern court.”

He huffed a laugh. “Oh come on.”

“Robb, I’m serious.”

“My father will be with her, she’ll be fine.”

“Your father cannot save her from everything,” you said. “Nor can he help her in everything, especially when it comes to the south. It’s a different world than here, and please don’t get me wrong, but Sansa still believes in fairytales. She must learn know how to—”

You stopped yourself and Robb pulled his brows together.

“How to what?”

Manipulate people.

It was beyond you how no one had given her the necessary training, especially if the southern court had been a possibility all along. You were rather sheltered and very much aware of it, but when it came to southern court games and wielding power, you and Margaery were given a very strict education.

Although you falling in love was unexpected, your husband falling in love with you had always been the plan.

“The southern court is an incredibly dangerous place,” you told him. “I fear she might not be ready for it just yet. If she stays here a little longer—”

“Nothing bad will happen to her in the southern court,” he assured you. “My father and the king are close as brothers.”

“Which is wonderful, but think about it,” you insisted. “Silas didn’t make our union happen because of my father and yours. He made it, because he approved you above all that. Does your father know Prince Joffrey? Do you? Beyond the fact that he will sit the Iron Throne once his father passes?”

“He can’t do anything to Sansa,” Robb brushed you off. “Sansa is a Stark.”

You caught the sight of the queen’s brother Jaime Lannister and Prince Joffrey stepping out of the keep into the yard, then huffed out.

“Can you please ask your father either way?” you asked. “If she can stay here for a moon or two?”

His eyes softened as he cupped your cheek gently, then dipped his head to give you the sweetest kiss, making your heart skip a beat. A giggle escaped you, your cheeks growing hot.

“We’re in public!”

“And we’re on our honeymoon,” he defended himself while you dragged your fingertip over the snarling wolf clasps on his doublet before you buried your face to his chest where his laugh rumbled deep. He pressed a kiss on top of your head, his hand still cradling your cheek.

“But you’ll ask?” you insisted and he heaved a sigh.

“I’ll ask,” he said. “Happy?”

“Very,” you chirped as you lifted your head to beam at him. “Thank you!”

He held your gaze in his, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb.

“I’ll never be able to tell you no, will I?” he asked and you scrunched up your nose, then grinned.

“Probably not,” you said airily. “But then again, why would you want to?”

That drew a chuckle out of him, and he shook his head as if he couldn’t believe himself.

“Aye,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you again. “Why would I want to indeed?”

Thanks to Lady Stark, the feast was going perfectly.

And everyone was having fun. Sansa was over the moon with the news, and she had made you promise that you would lend her one of your gowns for her to wear in the King’s Landing, so that she could impress the ladies there. Though you wanted to say it would take more than a gown, you decided not to say anything until Robb asked Lord Stark, so instead you assured her that you would help her with choosing the perfect gown and jewelry so that she would make an impeccable first impression on the southern court. Just until a moment ago that you and Robb were sitting at one of the tables among your peers, drinking and laughing, but when Arya threw food at Sansa’s dress, Lady Stark had shot him a look that clearly said to step in, so that the royal family wouldn’t notice the chaos that was about to erupt. Robb heaved a sigh and kissed your temple before he made his way to Arya and lifted her out of her seat, telling her it was time for bed. Arya pouted, but one gentle push from Robb made her start walking, and they both left the Great Hall so that he could tuck her in.

Watching Robb take care of his siblings never failed to make your chest all warm. He knew how to handle all of them, adapting a softer approach with Sansa and Bran while roughhousing Arya and Rickon who loved it. For a moment, you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering off, so you found yourself imagining what a great father he would make one day, to your own kids.

You knew it was too early, you still couldn’t tell whether you were ready, especially with your mother’s fate, yet the simple image of him with a baby made you smile.

You wondered whether they would take after him or you. Or perhaps they would be the perfect combination of you both—

“My lady.” Alys’ voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “Lady Stark and the queen ask for you, I think.”

You turned your head to take a look at the High Table where only Lady Stark and the queen sat—everyone else had scattered around the Great Hall. Lady Stark nodded at you and you pushed your chair back.

“Thank you Alys,” you whispered and stood up, then made your way to the High Table. You swept a well-trained curtsy, then straightened up and smiled at them, clasping your hands in front of you.

“Your Grace,” you said. “Lady Stark.”

“Hello my dear.”

“I wanted to see the infamous Blossom of the Reach,” the queen said, making your smile wider. “Everyone sings your praises, even miles away.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” 

“Including your best friend,” she said, making your head whip up. “Margaery Tyrell. She is dazzling the capital as we speak.”

And judging by the tone of her voice, she was not happy about that.

You would’ve been lying if you said it was unexpected. Margaery never feared anyone, no matter their social standing.

“As she dazzled the Reach,” you said. “I’m sure she flourishes in King’s Landing.”

“Do remind me, who had more admirers in the Reach? You or her?”

The attempt was nearly pitiful, and you had to hold back your laughter. This wasn’t new, the way people would try to sow discord between you and Margaery so that you would turn against each other and become rivals for—

For what?

Attention?

The queen wasn’t the first, nor would she be the last to find out your and Margaery’s bond ran too deep to get harmed by such comments. Margaery could be crowned the most beautiful girl in the realm tomorrow—in your opinion, she deserved it—, and you would be cheering her at the top of your lungs. She could be the queen, and you would be the first to bow down; there was no possibility of you turning bitter for her accomplishments and happiness, you loved her way too much for that.

And it was mutual too. Margaery never held contempt for you even when that title started being thrown around in the Reach, instead she fueled it, so that even more people would talk about it.

There was nothing anyone could do to make you and Margaery turn into enemies, no matter how much they tried.

“Oh, one stops counting after a while,” you said with a laugh. “It was rather hard for us to keep track of it, but the last I remember she had poems and I had songs. You would have to ask her though.”

“The Reach does love its songs, does it not?” the queen asked. “Just as singers love their embellishments, I’d say.”

…Ah.

Well, alright then.

There were only three people in this hall who could tell what that veiled comment really meant; the queen herself, Lady Stark, and you, seeing that you were all quite fluent in the language of the southern court and how it held insults behind compliments, or simple statements.

Like that one.

“Such admirers can affect a lady in a certain way,” the queen added. “Like excess pride. You and your friend should be careful.”

So now not only were your looks exaggerated, but you and Margaery were both arrogant.

Very well.

If she came all this way to your home to insult you and your best friend, you could play the game.

“Both my best friend and I look up to you as the pinnacle of humility, we grew up with the tales of your beauty, Your Grace,” you said airily. “Back when we were little girls, that was all we would hear from King’s Landing. To this day, I still remember how many admirers you used to have back in the day. I’m sure you’re delighted that his majesty relieved you of them, even after so many years!”

The tiny twitch of her lips reminded you of a snarl, but it was gone as fast as it came.

“Well,” she said after a beat. “I hope that you and your husband will be as happy as me and the king have been.”

The same king who had spent the majority of the feast drunk with another woman in his lap.

Sure.

She could keep hoping, Robb would never do that to you.

“I’m sure it would please you, Your Grace,” you said with a bright smile and she held your gaze in hers, then gave you a curt nod, signaling you could leave. You dropped a curtsy straight down with your head held high, then walked away from the High Table to join your ladies-in-waiting.

“The queen does not look happy,” Lyra murmured and Jorelle raised her brows, stealing a look at the table.

“Would you be?” she asked. “If my husband humiliated me like that…”

“I will never wed.”

“You might have to,” Barbrey said and Lyra shrugged her shoulders.

“Not really. I’m not the heir, I have no such responsibilities. One of my sisters has two children, she was never wed.”

“Bear Island has different customs than the rest of the North,” Wylla said. “If my father tried to wed me to someone like the king, I’d run away.”

“She’s still the queen,” Barbrey said and Wylla shook her head.

“I’m too northern to accept such disrespect.”

“By the way, have any of you talked to her ladies-in-waiting?”

“I’ve been avoiding them like the plague.”

“Well, I’ve talked to them, and…”

The rest of Alys’ words disappeared into a buzz when the familiar feeling hit you, making you frown slightly. Your theory was that it was instinct for ladies of the court, you just learned to notice when men were looking at you even without a glance in their direction. Perhaps it was habit, perhaps it was a way to survive, but you knew when they were watching.

And sure enough, when you turned your head, you found Robb, Lord Stark, the king and Prince Joffrey all looking in your direction. Robb did not look happy for some reason, he had his jaw clenched while he listened to the king, and Prince Joffrey scowled before his eyes found mother and his frown deepened, as if she had done something of great offense. You let a lovesick smile light up your face as you waved at Robb without sparing the rest of them a glance, and that seemed to snap him out of his mood, that familiar soft light appearing in his gaze as he lifted his cup a little to greet you. The king said something and smacked him on the back, letting out a boisterous laugh and you lingered there for a moment, then rolled your shoulders back.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” you said and walked away from your ladies to approach the men on the other side of the hall.

“Your Graces, my lord,” you greeted the king, the prince and Lord Stark, then beamed at Robb and turned to them. “May I please borrow my lord husband for a minute if you don’t mind?”

The king laughed.

“Oh he stopped listening to us the moment you looked his way,” he said. “But that’s how a newlywed must be, huh Robb? Your father used to have the same look on his face whenever you looked at your mother.”

“Robert, come on now,” Lord Stark said and the king grinned.

“You did,” he insisted while you laced your fingers through Robb’s. “The same tortured look, even when I dragged you to hunts! That’s how you know it’s a good match.”

 “Speaking of matches, I’ve heard the happy news,” you told Prince Joffrey with a smile. “I’m certain you and our beautiful Sansa will be as happy as we are, Your Grace.”

Prince Joffrey didn’t seem delighted at all, his eyes finding his mother again before forcing himself to smile.

 “Thank you, my lady.”

“Anyway, as I was saying, the whole North is talking of that duel! The future Warden of the North is a great fighter just like his father!”

A shadow crossed Prince Joffrey’s face but you paid him no mind.

“I’m glad the whole North is entertained, but I was rather terrified,” you said, leaning sideways to Robb’s arm and he pressed a kiss on top of your head as if trying to soothe you at the mention of the duel.

“You had nothing to worry about, I told you that,” Robb muttered into your hair and you shot him a mischievous look.

“The love of my life putting himself in danger scares me, that’s no crime,” you said, earning a chuckle from the king. “Is it, Your Grace?”

“Not at all,” the king said. “Even the strongest men are defeated by love more than sword, my boy. Great warrior or not, you might want to keep that in mind.”  

“I will, Your Grace.”

“If you’ll excuse us please.”

Robb followed you as you both crossed the Great Hall, still holding your hand tight until you stopped and turned to him. He seemed rather tense, frowning at Prince Joffrey who had just approached the queen to mutter something to her ear with a sour expression. You raised your brows, watching Robb grab a cup from one of the servants before he took a sip, still glaring at the High Table.

“Is everything alright?”

His attention snapped back to you. “Mm hm.”

“Are you certain?” you asked. “What were you all talking about before I approached?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

Though you wanted to insist, you decided otherwise. “Have you had the chance to talk to your father yet?”

“About?”

“About Sansa!” you whispered. “If she can stay a bit longer.”

“I mentioned it, he said no.” Robb shrugged his shoulders. “And I’ve told you, he’ll keep an eye on her. She’ll be safe.”

You pursed your lips before taking a deep breath.

“Alright, then I’ll send a letter to Margaery first thing in the morning,” you said. “She’s in King’s Landing, she should be able to help Sansa.”

He tilted his head.

“Margaery Tyrell?”

“Do you know another Margaery?”

“Your best friend whom you’re angry at?”

“It doesn’t matter whether I’m angry at her or not,” you said. “At the end of the day, I trust her with my life. We both know what’s important and when to put aside disagreements, she’s never going to deny me if I ask her for a favor.”

“Even after what happened?”

“Don’t underestimate her loyalty to me, or mine to her,” you said. “Trust me. If I need help, she’ll help.”

“I’ll never understand you two,” he muttered. “And I still think you’re worrying for nothing and Sansa will be fine, but very well. Write to her if it’ll put your heart at ease.”

“Hey.” Jon’s voice reached you and you looked over your shoulder to find him smiling. The sight seemed to have taken Robb by surprise as much as you, because he scoffed a laugh.

“Did Theon get maimed?” he asked. “How come you’re smiling?”

“Uncle Benjen is here.”

Robb’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Wait, Benjen Stark does exist?” you asked, looking between him and Jon, and Robb nodded fervently.

“Our uncle. He’s the First Ranger of the Night’s Watch.”

You were guessing that was an impressive title in the North, from the proud tone of Robb’s voice.

“Come,” Robb added. “I must introduce you to him, he’s amazing.”

“I mean to be honest, I doubt introductions are needed,” you pointed out, drawing chuckles out of both brothers. “I feel like I know him already.”

“Yeah, maybe—” Robb paused. “Maybe don’t mention the…”

“Name issue?” you asked and exchanged glances with Jon who all but read your mind, because you both shook your heads at the same time.

“No way.”

“Aye, he’s gonna hear it. If not from her, then from me.”

You were trying to choose between two pairs of earrings when Robb walked into your bedchambers, and you had to do a double-take to realize it was not a stranger who barged in, but your husband. You gasped, your hands shooting up to cover your mouth.

“What happened to your beard?!”

“My mother made me shave it,” he grumbled while you gawked at him. “For the king’s arrival.”

You had never seen Robb without a beard; he always had either a stubble or a very short beard, so this was the first time you were seeing him clean-shaven. Though he was handsome as always with his sharp jawline which was even more prominent without a beard, the sight felt rather strange to you, and it took you a couple of seconds to understand the reason. A huff of laughter escaped you, muffled by your hands before you lowered them.

“You look like a Reach knight!”

The way his expression turned from annoyed to complete and utter betrayal could’ve made a simple observer think you had just insulted him. He let out a displeased exhale through his nose, then strode past you to approach your mirror like it could magically grow his beard back if he glared at his reflection hard enough.

“I do not understand why she insists so much,” he mumbled while you tilted your head, watching him in the mirror with your arms crossed. “A northman cannot be without his beard, it’s just not right.” 

You covered your laughter by clearing your throat and plopped down on the bed, a grin curling your lips.

“Recite me a poem,” you demanded, and he turned around to scowl at you.

“I don’t know any.”

“You look like you do,” you said airily. “Can you sing, at least? Play any instruments? Almost every knight in the Reach can.”

“I’m no Reach knight,” he grumbled. “And it’ll grow back.”

“Are you saying that to me or yourself?”

He took another look at his reflection, running a hand over his face.

“I look like a boy.”

“A handsome Reach boy,” you chirped, earning an annoyed glare in return.  

“Don’t.”

You held up your hands in a mock of surrender before you pushed yourself off the bed.

“Well, I must go,” you said. “Lady Stark needed me today, so I’ll leave you and my mirror alone.”

“Wait—” He caught up with you to grab your wrist so that he could pull you closer, drawing a giggle out of you. You playfully slipped your wrist out of his grasp with a gasp, feigning shock.

“I’m very offended by you daring to believe I’d kiss you,” you said with a hand on your chest. “As handsome as you are, I’ll have you know I’m very loyal to my husband.”

“I am your husband!”

You made a noise of disagreement.

“My husband has a beard,” you pointed out, taking a step back. “You appear to be one of the knights who used to follow me around in the ballroom begging for a dance.”

Well, that wasn’t entirely true; none of those knights were as handsome as Robb was, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Learn a poem in the meantime,” you told him, walking backwards to the door. “Or grow your beard back. Whichever is faster.”

With that, you walked out of the room and left him there, your laughter echoing in the hallway.

Though you both had very different trainings, it was times like these you could see that Lady Stark was in fact raised in the south.

Being the lady of the castle—especially when the said castle was Winterfell—came with so many responsibilities. Hosting guests was not only duty but also an art, which she pulled off flawlessly, even before the guests were there. The bedchambers, the feast, the entertainment, it was all ready the moment you got the news that the king would be arriving today. There were direwolf banners hanging in and outside the castle, and by the time you and the Starks gathered in the yard, you could already hear the sound of the horses approaching.

You had picked a pearly gray silk gown for the day, to blend in with the rest of the family, with your pelt thrown over your shoulders. Jon wasn’t allowed to stand with the family per Lady Stark’s orders, and it had put Robb in a rather sullen mood that he only snapped out of at the sight of Arya rushing to cross the yard with a helmet on her head. Lord Stark quickly pulled it off of her head and sent her to go stand between Sansa and Bran. You were right beside Robb, your hand in his while he caressed the back of your hand with his thumb almost absentmindedly, making you bite back a smile before you looked over your shoulder to steal a glance at your ladies-in-waiting in the crowd.

You hadn’t met the king or the queen before, and it had been on purpose, thanks to Silas and your father. The king’s many affairs with other women was not unheard of throughout the realm, and two years ago, around the time that title of yours started being thrown around, he and the queen had visited the Reach. A week before that, per Silas’ counsel and your father’s orders, you weren’t allowed to go outside so that when you missed the feast in King’s honor, the whole Reach thought you had been too sick to join any feast the whole week. The reason was simple; neither your father nor Silas wanted to risk the possibility of you catching the king’s interest, seeing that if you did, there would be so little that they could do except send you to Dorne to keep you safe and away from the most powerful man of the realm.

Though many families in the Reach would be delighted at the idea of their daughter catching the king’s eye and elevating their status, your family loved you way too much to put you in a situation where you would be forced to be a mistress.

But thankfully, you were safe now.

Not that the married women were safe in the southern court, especially from the king. However, you were Robb’s wife now, the future Lady of Winterfell, and nobody, not even the king, could risk the wrath of House Stark and the North by crossing a line.

You were probably the safest lady in the whole realm.

You snapped out of your thoughts when the horsemen passed the gates and entered the yard, a young boy that could only be a couple years older than Sansa—the prince, if you had to guess— at the front. Sansa sighed beside you, making Robb turn to her and then frown at the boy who gave Sansa a smirk, and you had to bite back your smile.

Of course Sansa would admire the prince.

The queen’s carriage entered the yard as well, followed by the Kingsguard and the king, whom you only recognized because of the crown. He was a heavy man with a serious look on his face, his eyes darting around the yard as his horse stopped and his squire rushed to help him dismount. Lord Stark bent a knee, the rest of the family and the whole yard following him suit, and it was only when the king motioned at him to rise that he stood up, all of you doing the same.

The king held Lord Stark’s gaze. “You got fat.”

You blinked a couple of times, holding your breath to see what Lord Stark would say, but he only lowered his eyes to the king’s stomach before raising his brows at him, as if returning the statement without so much as a word. The king burst into laughter, making Lord Stark smile as well before he pulled him into a hug.

…Gods, you were never going to understand men’s humor or their idea of friendship.

“Cat!” he greeted Lady Stark with a happy smile, hugging her as well. Sansa was still staring at the prince, and you leaned closer to her so that Robb couldn’t hear your whisper.

“You might want to pretend to be a little more nonchalant, my sweet.”

Sansa gave you an abashed smile while the king and Lord Stark exchanged words.

“Do you think he finds me beautiful?”

“Of course he does,” you whispered back, watching the queen step out of the carriage. She was beautiful, the displeasure on her face wasn’t enough to take away from it, and she looked around the yard before her eyes stopped on you.

“You must be Robb.” The king shook Robb’s hand before his eyes found you. “And the newest member of the family, I assume. The tales of your beauty weren’t lying, my lady.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” you accepted the compliment with a well-practiced graceful smile. The queen approached Lord Stark who kissed her hand, but everyone’s attention turned to the king in a second when he spoke:

“Take me to your crypt, I want to pay my respects.”

“We’ve been riding for a month, my love,” the queen said kindly, and you had to wonder for a second whether everyone else could hear just how forced it sounded or just you. “Surely the dead can wait.”

The king didn’t even spare her a glance.

“Ned,” he said curtly before he walked away, and Lord Stark followed him into the Keep.

…Ah.

The crypt.

Where Lord Stark’s sister who was also the king’s alleged true love laid in her eternal sleep.

The Queen looked like she wanted to argue, but her brother touched her arm as if signaling her to stop talking, and you averted your eyes, making yourself busy with your bracelet.

It was one of the many things you and Margaery were taught when you were little.

If someone above your rank was insulted or ignored in front of you, you never saw it.

Lord Stark and the king spent almost an hour in the crypts while the queen retired to her bedchambers to rest. It seemed that Lord Stark had much to speak with the king, because Robb had come to find you in the yard around an hour before the feast, clearly released from his father’s solar. You quickly dismissed your ladies-in-waiting so that you could speak freely at the far corner of the yard, and to be completely honest, the way you two sat was not appropriate at all; rather than sitting across from one another, you had your back against his chest, his arms wrapped around you while he nuzzled to your hair.

It had been rather peaceful, at least until a moment ago.

“A betrothal?” you repeated, craning your neck to look up at him. “Between Sansa and…”

“Prince Joffrey,” Robb finished your sentence for you, letting out a displeased noise as you pulled out of his arms to turn to see him better. “Don’t—”

“And Lord Stark said yes?”

“Sansa would cry for the rest of her life if he did not,” Robb said with a grimace. “She is in love already, and they haven’t even talked to each other yet. My mother talked my father into it, he will take the girls with him when he goes to King’s Landing to be the Hand.”

A frown pinched your forehead while Robb’s fingers drew shapes in your palm absentmindedly.

“Robb, I don’t think…”

Gods, how were you going to approach this?

You had to walk a very thin line here. You couldn’t risk anyone think you were trying to sabotage Sansa’s future, especially when the root of your worries was her future. Sansa was the sweetest girl ever, and you were certain she would grow up to be the loveliest lady and queen, but it was because of that you weren’t as excited as Lady Stark about this union.

Sansa was too sweet and naive for King’s Landing.

Not to mention, you knew nearly nothing about Prince Joffrey. There was a reason why it had taken Silas so much time to make a decision about your husband, marriage couldn’t be decided in a haste. Granted the king and Lord Stark were friends, but it didn’t mean their children would form a good union, and the moment they wed, Sansa would be bound to Prince Joffrey forever, regardless of how strong her house was.

And this was yet another time you were thankful to the gods for Silas and the rest of your family.

Those rules didn’t apply to you.

“What is it?” Robb asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. You opened your mouth and closed it again, then took a deep breath.

“Sansa is very young still.”

“Oh they won’t wed right away,” Robb said. “They’ll wait until my father deems it the right time. Sansa will just be in King’s Landing in the meantime, with Arya.”

You stole a look at the rest of the yard, deep in thought.

“Well, perhaps…” You paused. “Perhaps if they won’t wed right away, Sansa could stay here a bit longer so that I can teach her things.”

“Like what?”

“Like how to survive in the southern court.”

He huffed a laugh. “Oh come on.”

“Robb, I’m serious.”

“My father will be with her, she’ll be fine.”

“Your father cannot save her from everything,” you said. “Nor can he help her in everything, especially when it comes to the south. It’s a different world than here, and please don’t get me wrong, but Sansa still believes in fairytales. She must learn know how to—”

You stopped yourself and Robb pulled his brows together.

“How to what?”

Manipulate people.

It was beyond you how no one had given her the necessary training, especially if the southern court had been a possibility all along. You were rather sheltered and very much aware of it, but when it came to southern court games and wielding power, you and Margaery were given a very strict education.

Although you falling in love was unexpected, your husband falling in love with you had always been the plan.

“The southern court is an incredibly dangerous place,” you told him. “I fear she might not be ready for it just yet. If she stays here a little longer—”

“Nothing bad will happen to her in the southern court,” he assured you. “My father and the king are close as brothers.”

“Which is wonderful, but think about it,” you insisted. “Silas didn’t make our union happen because of my father and yours. He made it, because he approved you above all that. Does your father know Prince Joffrey? Do you? Beyond the fact that he will sit the Iron Throne once his father passes?”

“He can’t do anything to Sansa,” Robb brushed you off. “Sansa is a Stark.”

You caught the sight of the queen’s brother Jaime Lannister and Prince Joffrey stepping out of the keep into the yard, then huffed out.

“Can you please ask your father either way?” you asked. “If she can stay here for a moon or two?”

His eyes softened as he cupped your cheek gently, then dipped his head to give you the sweetest kiss, making your heart skip a beat. A giggle escaped you, your cheeks growing hot.

“We’re in public!”

“And we’re on our honeymoon,” he defended himself while you dragged your fingertip over the snarling wolf clasps on his doublet before you buried your face to his chest where his laugh rumbled deep. He pressed a kiss on top of your head, his hand still cradling your cheek.

“But you’ll ask?” you insisted and he heaved a sigh.

“I’ll ask,” he said. “Happy?”

“Very,” you chirped as you lifted your head to beam at him. “Thank you!”

He held your gaze in his, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb.

“I’ll never be able to tell you no, will I?” he asked and you scrunched up your nose, then grinned.

“Probably not,” you said airily. “But then again, why would you want to?”

That drew a chuckle out of him, and he shook his head as if he couldn’t believe himself.

“Aye,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you again. “Why would I want to indeed?”

Thanks to Lady Stark, the feast was going perfectly.

And everyone was having fun. Sansa was over the moon with the news, and she had made you promise that you would lend her one of your gowns for her to wear in the King’s Landing, so that she could impress the ladies there. Though you wanted to say it would take more than a gown, you decided not to say anything until Robb asked Lord Stark, so instead you assured her that you would help her with choosing the perfect gown and jewelry so that she would make an impeccable first impression on the southern court. Just until a moment ago that you and Robb were sitting at one of the tables among your peers, drinking and laughing, but when Arya threw food at Sansa’s dress, Lady Stark had shot him a look that clearly said to step in, so that the royal family wouldn’t notice the chaos that was about to erupt. Robb heaved a sigh and kissed your temple before he made his way to Arya and lifted her out of her seat, telling her it was time for bed. Arya pouted, but one gentle push from Robb made her start walking, and they both left the Great Hall so that he could tuck her in.

Watching Robb take care of his siblings never failed to make your chest all warm. He knew how to handle all of them, adapting a softer approach with Sansa and Bran while roughhousing Arya and Rickon who loved it. For a moment, you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering off, so you found yourself imagining what a great father he would make one day, to your own kids.

You knew it was too early, you still couldn’t tell whether you were ready, especially with your mother’s fate, yet the simple image of him with a baby made you smile.

You wondered whether they would take after him or you. Or perhaps they would be the perfect combination of you both—

“My lady.” Alys’ voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “Lady Stark and the queen ask for you, I think.”

You turned your head to take a look at the High Table where only Lady Stark and the queen sat—everyone else had scattered around the Great Hall. Lady Stark nodded at you and you pushed your chair back.

“Thank you Alys,” you whispered and stood up, then made your way to the High Table. You swept a well-trained curtsy, then straightened up and smiled at them, clasping your hands in front of you.

“Your Grace,” you said. “Lady Stark.”

“Hello my dear.”

“I wanted to see the infamous Blossom of the Reach,” the queen said, making your smile wider. “Everyone sings your praises, even miles away.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” 

“Including your best friend,” she said, making your head whip up. “Margaery Tyrell. She is dazzling the capital as we speak.”

And judging by the tone of her voice, she was not happy about that.

You would’ve been lying if you said it was unexpected. Margaery never feared anyone, no matter their social standing.

“As she dazzled the Reach,” you said. “I’m sure she flourishes in King’s Landing.”

“Do remind me, who had more admirers in the Reach? You or her?”

The attempt was nearly pitiful, and you had to hold back your laughter. This wasn’t new, the way people would try to sow discord between you and Margaery so that you would turn against each other and become rivals for—

For what?

Attention?

The queen wasn’t the first, nor would she be the last to find out your and Margaery’s bond ran too deep to get harmed by such comments. Margaery could be crowned the most beautiful girl in the realm tomorrow—in your opinion, she deserved it—, and you would be cheering her at the top of your lungs. She could be the queen, and you would be the first to bow down; there was no possibility of you turning bitter for her accomplishments and happiness, you loved her way too much for that.

And it was mutual too. Margaery never held contempt for you even when that title started being thrown around in the Reach, instead she fueled it, so that even more people would talk about it.

There was nothing anyone could do to make you and Margaery turn into enemies, no matter how much they tried.

“Oh, one stops counting after a while,” you said with a laugh. “It was rather hard for us to keep track of it, but the last I remember she had poems and I had songs. You would have to ask her though.”

“The Reach does love its songs, does it not?” the queen asked. “Just as singers love their embellishments, I’d say.”

…Ah.

Well, alright then.

There were only three people in this hall who could tell what that veiled comment really meant; the queen herself, Lady Stark, and you, seeing that you were all quite fluent in the language of the southern court and how it held insults behind compliments, or simple statements.

Like that one.

“Such admirers can affect a lady in a certain way,” the queen added. “Like excess pride. You and your friend should be careful.”

So now not only were your looks exaggerated, but you and Margaery were both arrogant.

Very well.

If she came all this way to your home to insult you and your best friend, you could play the game.

“Both my best friend and I look up to you as the pinnacle of humility, we grew up with the tales of your beauty, Your Grace,” you said airily. “Back when we were little girls, that was all we would hear from King’s Landing. To this day, I still remember how many admirers you used to have back in the day. I’m sure you’re delighted that his majesty relieved you of them, even after so many years!”

The tiny twitch of her lips reminded you of a snarl, but it was gone as fast as it came.

“Well,” she said after a beat. “I hope that you and your husband will be as happy as me and the king have been.”

The same king who had spent the majority of the feast drunk with another woman in his lap.

Sure.

She could keep hoping, Robb would never do that to you.

“I’m sure it would please you, Your Grace,” you said with a bright smile and she held your gaze in hers, then gave you a curt nod, signaling you could leave. You dropped a curtsy straight down with your head held high, then walked away from the High Table to join your ladies-in-waiting.

“The queen does not look happy,” Lyra murmured and Jorelle raised her brows, stealing a look at the table.

“Would you be?” she asked. “If my husband humiliated me like that…”

“I will never wed.”

“You might have to,” Barbrey said and Lyra shrugged her shoulders.

“Not really. I’m not the heir, I have no such responsibilities. One of my sisters has two children, she was never wed.”

“Bear Island has different customs than the rest of the North,” Wylla said. “If my father tried to wed me to someone like the king, I’d run away.”

“She’s still the queen,” Barbrey said and Wylla shook her head.

“I’m too northern to accept such disrespect.”

“By the way, have any of you talked to her ladies-in-waiting?”

“I’ve been avoiding them like the plague.”

“Well, I’ve talked to them, and…”

The rest of Alys’ words disappeared into a buzz when the familiar feeling hit you, making you frown slightly. Your theory was that it was instinct for ladies of the court, you just learned to notice when men were looking at you even without a glance in their direction. Perhaps it was habit, perhaps it was a way to survive, but you knew when they were watching.

And sure enough, when you turned your head, you found Robb, Lord Stark, the king and Prince Joffrey all looking in your direction. Robb did not look happy for some reason, he had his jaw clenched while he listened to the king, and Prince Joffrey scowled before his eyes found mother and his frown deepened, as if she had done something of great offense. You let a lovesick smile light up your face as you waved at Robb without sparing the rest of them a glance, and that seemed to snap him out of his mood, that familiar soft light appearing in his gaze as he lifted his cup a little to greet you. The king said something and smacked him on the back, letting out a boisterous laugh and you lingered there for a moment, then rolled your shoulders back.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” you said and walked away from your ladies to approach the men on the other side of the hall.

“Your Graces, my lord,” you greeted the king, the prince and Lord Stark, then beamed at Robb and turned to them. “May I please borrow my lord husband for a minute if you don’t mind?”

The king laughed.

“Oh he stopped listening to us the moment you looked his way,” he said. “But that’s how a newlywed must be, huh Robb? Your father used to have the same look on his face whenever you looked at your mother.”

“Robert, come on now,” Lord Stark said and the king grinned.

“You did,” he insisted while you laced your fingers through Robb’s. “The same tortured look, even when I dragged you to hunts! That’s how you know it’s a good match.”

 “Speaking of matches, I’ve heard the happy news,” you told Prince Joffrey with a smile. “I’m certain you and our beautiful Sansa will be as happy as we are, Your Grace.”

Prince Joffrey didn’t seem delighted at all, his eyes finding his mother again before forcing himself to smile.

 “Thank you, my lady.”

“Anyway, as I was saying, the whole North is talking of that duel! The future Warden of the North is a great fighter just like his father!”

A shadow crossed Prince Joffrey’s face but you paid him no mind.

“I’m glad the whole North is entertained, but I was rather terrified,” you said, leaning sideways to Robb’s arm and he pressed a kiss on top of your head as if trying to soothe you at the mention of the duel.

“You had nothing to worry about, I told you that,” Robb muttered into your hair and you shot him a mischievous look.

“The love of my life putting himself in danger scares me, that’s no crime,” you said, earning a chuckle from the king. “Is it, Your Grace?”

“Not at all,” the king said. “Even the strongest men are defeated by love more than sword, my boy. Great warrior or not, you might want to keep that in mind.”  

“I will, Your Grace.”

“If you’ll excuse us please.”

Robb followed you as you both crossed the Great Hall, still holding your hand tight until you stopped and turned to him. He seemed rather tense, frowning at Prince Joffrey who had just approached the queen to mutter something to her ear with a sour expression. You raised your brows, watching Robb grab a cup from one of the servants before he took a sip, still glaring at the High Table.

“Is everything alright?”

His attention snapped back to you. “Mm hm.”

“Are you certain?” you asked. “What were you all talking about before I approached?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

Though you wanted to insist, you decided otherwise. “Have you had the chance to talk to your father yet?”

“About?”

“About Sansa!” you whispered. “If she can stay a bit longer.”

“I mentioned it, he said no.” Robb shrugged his shoulders. “And I’ve told you, he’ll keep an eye on her. She’ll be safe.”

You pursed your lips before taking a deep breath.

“Alright, then I’ll send a letter to Margaery first thing in the morning,” you said. “She’s in King’s Landing, she should be able to help Sansa.”

He tilted his head.

“Margaery Tyrell?”

“Do you know another Margaery?”

“Your best friend whom you’re angry at?”

“It doesn’t matter whether I’m angry at her or not,” you said. “At the end of the day, I trust her with my life. We both know what’s important and when to put aside disagreements, she’s never going to deny me if I ask her for a favor.”

“Even after what happened?”

“Don’t underestimate her loyalty to me, or mine to her,” you said. “Trust me. If I need help, she’ll help.”

“I’ll never understand you two,” he muttered. “And I still think you’re worrying for nothing and Sansa will be fine, but very well. Write to her if it’ll put your heart at ease.”

“Hey.” Jon’s voice reached you and you looked over your shoulder to find him smiling. The sight seemed to have taken Robb by surprise as much as you, because he scoffed a laugh.

“Did Theon get maimed?” he asked. “How come you’re smiling?”

“Uncle Benjen is here.”

Robb’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Wait, Benjen Stark does exist?” you asked, looking between him and Jon, and Robb nodded fervently.

“Our uncle. He’s the First Ranger of the Night’s Watch.”

You were guessing that was an impressive title in the North, from the proud tone of Robb’s voice.

“Come,” Robb added. “I must introduce you to him, he’s amazing.”

“I mean to be honest, I doubt introductions are needed,” you pointed out, drawing chuckles out of both brothers. “I feel like I know him already.”

“Yeah, maybe—” Robb paused. “Maybe don’t mention the…”

“Name issue?” you asked and exchanged glances with Jon who all but read your mind, because you both shook your heads at the same time.

“No way.”

“Aye, he’s gonna hear it. If not from her, then from me.”

You were trying to choose between two pairs of earrings when Robb walked into your bedchambers, and you had to do a double-take to realize it was not a stranger who barged in, but your husband. You gasped, your hands shooting up to cover your mouth.

“What happened to your beard?!”

“My mother made me shave it,” he grumbled while you gawked at him. “For the king’s arrival.”

You had never seen Robb without a beard; he always had either a stubble or a very short beard, so this was the first time you were seeing him clean-shaven. Though he was handsome as always with his sharp jawline which was even more prominent without a beard, the sight felt rather strange to you, and it took you a couple of seconds to understand the reason. A huff of laughter escaped you, muffled by your hands before you lowered them.

“You look like a Reach knight!”

The way his expression turned from annoyed to complete and utter betrayal could’ve made a simple observer think you had just insulted him. He let out a displeased exhale through his nose, then strode past you to approach your mirror like it could magically grow his beard back if he glared at his reflection hard enough.

“I do not understand why she insists so much,” he mumbled while you tilted your head, watching him in the mirror with your arms crossed. “A northman cannot be without his beard, it’s just not right.” 

You covered your laughter by clearing your throat and plopped down on the bed, a grin curling your lips.

“Recite me a poem,” you demanded, and he turned around to scowl at you.

“I don’t know any.”

“You look like you do,” you said airily. “Can you sing, at least? Play any instruments? Almost every knight in the Reach can.”

“I’m no Reach knight,” he grumbled. “And it’ll grow back.”

“Are you saying that to me or yourself?”

He took another look at his reflection, running a hand over his face.

“I look like a boy.”

“A handsome Reach boy,” you chirped, earning an annoyed glare in return.  

“Don’t.”

You held up your hands in a mock of surrender before you pushed yourself off the bed.

“Well, I must go,” you said. “Lady Stark needed me today, so I’ll leave you and my mirror alone.”

“Wait—” He caught up with you to grab your wrist so that he could pull you closer, drawing a giggle out of you. You playfully slipped your wrist out of his grasp with a gasp, feigning shock.

“I’m very offended by you daring to believe I’d kiss you,” you said with a hand on your chest. “As handsome as you are, I’ll have you know I’m very loyal to my husband.”

“I am your husband!”

You made a noise of disagreement.

“My husband has a beard,” you pointed out, taking a step back. “You appear to be one of the knights who used to follow me around in the ballroom begging for a dance.”

Well, that wasn’t entirely true; none of those knights were as handsome as Robb was, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Learn a poem in the meantime,” you told him, walking backwards to the door. “Or grow your beard back. Whichever is faster.”

With that, you walked out of the room and left him there, your laughter echoing in the hallway.

Though you both had very different trainings, it was times like these you could see that Lady Stark was in fact raised in the south.

Being the lady of the castle—especially when the said castle was Winterfell—came with so many responsibilities. Hosting guests was not only duty but also an art, which she pulled off flawlessly, even before the guests were there. The bedchambers, the feast, the entertainment, it was all ready the moment you got the news that the king would be arriving today. There were direwolf banners hanging in and outside the castle as well as the yard, and by the time you and the Starks gathered in the yard, you could already hear the sound of the horses approaching.

You had picked a pearly gray silk gown for the day, to blend in with the rest of the family, with your pelt thrown over your shoulders. Jon wasn’t allowed to stand with the family per Lady Stark’s orders, and it had put Robb in a rather sullen mood that he only snapped out of at the sight of Arya rushing to cross the yard with a helmet on her head. Lord Stark quickly pulled it off of her head and sent her to go stand between Sansa and Bran. You were right beside Robb, your hand in his while he caressed the back of your hand with his thumb almost absentmindedly, making you bite back a smile before you looked over your shoulder to steal a glance at your ladies-in-waiting in the crowd.

You hadn’t met the king or the queen before, and it had been on purpose, thanks to Silas and your father. The king’s many affairs with other women was not unheard of throughout the realm, and two years ago, around the time that title of yours started being thrown around, he and the queen had visited the Reach. A week before that, per Silas’ counsel and your father’s orders, you weren’t allowed to go outside so that when you missed the feast in King’s honor, the whole Reach thought you had been too sick to join any feast the whole week. The reason was simple; neither your father nor Silas wanted to risk the possibility of you catching the king’s interest, seeing that if you did, there would be so little that they could do except send you to Dorne to keep you safe and away from the most powerful man of the realm.

Though many families in the Reach would be delighted at the idea of their daughter catching the king’s eye and elevating their status, your family loved you way too much to put you in a situation where you would be forced to be a mistress.

But thankfully, you were safe now.

Not that the married women were safe in the southern court, especially from the king. However, you were Robb’s wife now, the future Lady of Winterfell, and nobody, not even the king, could risk the wrath of House Stark and the North by crossing a line.

You were probably the safest lady in the whole realm.

You snapped out of your thoughts when the horsemen passed the gates and entered the yard, a young boy that could only be a couple years older than Sansa—the prince, if you had to guess— at the front. Sansa sighed beside you, making Robb turn to her and then frown at the boy who gave Sansa a smirk, and you had to bite back your smile.

Of course Sansa would admire the prince.

The queen’s carriage entered the yard as well, followed by the Kingsguard and the king, whom you only recognized because of the crown. He was a heavy man with a serious look on his face, his eyes darting around the yard as his horse stopped and his squire rushed to help him dismount. Lord Stark bent a knee, the rest of the family and the whole yard following him suit, and it was only when the king motioned at him to rise that he stood up, all of you doing the same.

The king held Lord Stark’s gaze. “You got fat.”

You blinked a couple of times, holding your breath to see what Lord Stark would say, but he only lowered his gaze to the king’s stomach before raising his brows at him, as if returning the statement without so much as a word. The king burst into laughter, making Lord Stark smile as well before he pulled him into a hug.

…Gods, you were never going to understand men’s humor or their idea of friendship.

“Cat!” he greeted Lady Stark with a happy smile, hugging her as well. Sansa was still gazing at the prince, and you leaned closer to her so that Robb couldn’t hear your whisper.

“You might want to pretend to be a little more nonchalant, my sweet.”

Sansa gave you an abashed smile while the king and Lord Stark exchanged words.

“Do you think he finds me beautiful?”

“Of course he does,” you whispered back, watching the queen step out of the carriage. She was beautiful, even the displeased look on her face wasn’t enough to take away from it, and her gaze went around the yard before it stopped on you.

“You must be Robb.” The king shook Robb’s hand before his eyes found you. “And the newest member of the family, I assume. The tales of your beauty weren’t lying, my lady.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” you accepted the compliment with a well-practiced graceful smile. The queen approached Lord Stark who kissed her hand, but everyone’s attention turned to the king in a second when he spoke:

“Take me to your crypt, I want to pay my respects.”

“We’ve been riding for a month, my love,” the queen said kindly, and you had to wonder for a second whether everyone else could hear just how forced it sounded or just you. “Surely the dead can wait.”

The king didn’t even spare her a glance.

“Ned,” he said curtly before he walked away, and Lord Stark followed him into the Keep.

…Ah.

The crypt.

Where Lord Stark’s sister who was also the king’s alleged true love laid in her eternal sleep.

The Queen looked like she wanted to argue, but her brother touched her arm as if signaling her to stop talking, and you averted your eyes, making yourself busy with your bracelet.

It was one of the many things you and Margaery were taught when you were little.

If someone above your rank was insulted or ignored in front of you, you never saw it.

Lord Stark and the king spent almost an hour in the crypts while the queen retired to her bedchambers to rest. It seemed that Lord Stark had much to speak with the king, because Robb had come to find you in the yard around an hour before the feast, clearly released from his father’s solar. You quickly dismissed your ladies-in-waiting so that you could speak freely at the far corner of the yard, and to be completely honest, the way you two sat was not appropriate at all; rather than sitting across from one another, you had your back against his chest, his arms wrapped around you while he nuzzled to your hair.

It had been rather peaceful, at least until a moment ago.

“A betrothal?” you repeated, craning your neck to look up at him. “Between Sansa and…”

“Prince Joffrey,” Robb finished your sentence for you, letting out a displeased noise as you pulled out of his arms to turn to see him better. “Don’t—”

“And Lord Stark said yes?”

“Sansa would cry for the rest of her life if he did not,” Robb said with a grimace. “She is in love already, and they haven’t even talked to each other yet. My mother talked my father into it, he will take the girls with him when he goes to King’s Landing to be the Hand.”

A frown pinched your forehead while Robb’s fingers drew shapes in your palm absentmindedly.

“Robb, I don’t think…”

Gods, how were you going to approach this?

You had to walk a very thin line here. You couldn’t risk anyone think you were trying to sabotage Sansa’s future, especially when the root of your worries was her future. Sansa was the sweetest girl ever, and you were certain she would grow up to be the loveliest lady and queen, but it was because of that you weren’t as excited as Lady Stark about this union.

Sansa was too sweet and naive for King’s Landing.

Not to mention, you knew nearly nothing about Prince Joffrey. There was a reason why it had taken Silas so much time to make a decision about your husband, marriage couldn’t be decided in a haste. Granted the king and Lord Stark were friends, but it didn’t mean their children would form a good union, and the moment they wed, Sansa would be bound to Prince Joffrey forever, regardless of how strong her house was.

And this was yet another time you were thankful to the gods for Silas and the rest of your family.

Those rules didn’t apply to you.

“What is it?” Robb asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. You opened your mouth and closed it again, then took a deep breath.

“Sansa is very young still.”

“Oh they won’t wed right away,” Robb said. “They’ll wait until my father deems it the right time. Sansa will just be in King’s Landing in the meantime, with Arya.”

You stole a look at the rest of the yard, deep in thought.

“Well, perhaps…” You paused. “Perhaps if they won’t wed right away, Sansa could stay here a bit longer so that I can teach her things.”

“Like what?”

“Like how to survive in the southern court.”

He huffed a laugh. “Oh come on.”

“Robb, I’m serious.”

“My father will be with her, she’ll be fine.”

“Your father cannot save her from everything,” you said. “Nor can he help her in everything, especially when it comes to the south. It’s a different world than here, and please don’t get me wrong, but Sansa still believes in fairytales. She must learn know how to—”

You stopped yourself and Robb pulled his brows together.

“How to what?”

Manipulate people.

It was beyond you how no one had given her the necessary training, especially if the southern court had been a possibility all along. You were rather sheltered and very much aware of it, but when it came to southern court games and wielding power, you and Margaery were given a very strict education.

Although you falling in love was unexpected, your husband falling in love with you had always been the plan.

“The southern court is an incredibly dangerous place,” you told him. “I fear she might not be ready for it just yet. If she stays here a little longer—”

“Nothing bad will happen to her in the southern court,” he assured you. “My father and the king are close as brothers.”

“Which is wonderful, but think about it,” you insisted. “Silas didn’t make our union happen because of my father and yours. He made it, because he approved you above all that. Does your father know Prince Joffrey? Do you? Beyond the fact that he will sit the Iron Throne once his father passes?”

“He can’t do anything to Sansa,” Robb brushed you off. “Sansa is a Stark.”

You caught the sight of the queen’s brother Jaime Lannister and Prince Joffrey stepping out of the keep into the yard, then huffed out.

“Can you please ask your father either way?” you asked. “If she can stay here for a moon or two?”

His eyes softened as he cupped your cheek gently, then dipped his head to give you the sweetest kiss, making your heart skip a beat. A giggle escaped you, your cheeks growing hot.

“We’re in public!”

“And we’re on our honeymoon,” he defended himself while you dragged your fingertip over the snarling wolf clasps on his doublet before you buried your face to his chest where his laugh rumbled deep. He pressed a kiss on top of your head, his hand still cradling your cheek.

“But you’ll ask?” you insisted and he heaved a sigh.

“I’ll ask,” he said. “Happy?”

“Very,” you chirped as you lifted your head to beam at him. “Thank you!”

He held your gaze in his, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb.

“I’ll never be able to tell you no, will I?” he asked and you scrunched up your nose, then grinned.

“Probably not,” you said airily. “But then again, why would you want to?”

That drew a chuckle out of him, and he shook his head as if he couldn’t believe himself.

“Aye,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you again. “Why would I want to indeed?”

Thanks to Lady Stark, the feast was going perfectly.

And everyone was having fun. Sansa was over the moon with the news, and she had made you promise that you would lend her one of your gowns for her to wear in the King’s Landing, so that she could impress the ladies there. Though you wanted to say it would take more than a gown, you decided not to say anything until Robb asked Lord Stark, so instead you assured her that you would help her with choosing the perfect gown and jewelry so that she would make an impeccable first impression on the southern court. Just until a moment ago that you and Robb were sitting at one of the tables among your peers, drinking and laughing, but when Arya threw food at Sansa’s dress, Lady Stark had shot him a look that clearly said to step in, so that the royal family wouldn’t notice the chaos that was about to erupt. Robb heaved a sigh and kissed your temple before he made his way to Arya and lifted her out of her seat, telling her it was time for bed. Arya pouted, but one gentle push from Robb made her start walking, and they both left the Great Hall so that he could tuck her in.

Watching Robb take care of his siblings never failed to make your chest all warm. He knew how to handle all of them, adapting a softer approach with Sansa and Bran while roughhousing Arya and Rickon who loved it. For a moment, you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering off, so you found yourself imagining what a great father he would make one day, to your own kids.

You knew it was too early, you still couldn’t tell whether you were ready, especially with your mother’s fate, yet the simple image of him with a baby made you smile.

You wondered whether they would take after him or you. Or perhaps they would be the perfect combination of you both—

“My lady.” Alys’ voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “Lady Stark and the queen ask for you, I think.”

You turned your head to take a look at the High Table where only Lady Stark and the queen sat—everyone else had scattered around the Great Hall. Lady Stark nodded at you and you pushed your chair back.

“Thank you Alys,” you whispered and stood up, then made your way to the High Table. You swept a well-trained curtsy, then straightened up and smiled at them, clasping your hands in front of you.

“Your Grace,” you said. “Lady Stark.”

“Hello my dear.”

“I wanted to see the infamous Blossom of the Reach,” the queen said, making your smile wider. “Everyone sings your praises, even miles away.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” 

“Including your best friend,” she said, making your head whip up. “Margaery Tyrell. She is dazzling the capital as we speak.”

And judging by the tone of her voice, she was not happy about that.

You would’ve been lying if you said it was unexpected. Margaery never feared anyone, no matter their social standing.

“As she dazzled the Reach,” you said. “I’m sure she flourishes in King’s Landing.”

“Do remind me, who had more admirers in the Reach? You or her?”

The attempt was nearly pitiful, and you had to hold back your laughter. This wasn’t new, the way people would try to sow discord between you and Margaery so that you would turn against each other and become rivals for—

For what?

Attention?

The queen wasn’t the first, nor would she be the last to find out your and Margaery’s bond ran too deep to get harmed by such comments. Margaery could be crowned the most beautiful girl in the realm tomorrow—in your opinion, she deserved it—, and you would be cheering her at the top of your lungs. She could be the queen, and you would be the first to bow down; there was no possibility of you turning bitter for her accomplishments and happiness, you loved her way too much for that.

And it was mutual too. Margaery never held contempt for you even when that title started being thrown around in the Reach, instead she fueled it, so that even more people would talk about it.

There was nothing anyone could do to make you and Margaery turn into enemies, no matter how much they tried.

“Oh, one stops counting after a while,” you said with a laugh. “It was rather hard for us to keep track of it, but the last I remember she had poems and I had songs. You would have to ask her though.”

“The Reach does love its songs, does it not?” the queen asked. “Just as singers love their embellishments, I’d say.”

…Ah.

Well, alright then.

There were only three people in this hall who could tell what that veiled comment really meant; the queen herself, Lady Stark, and you, seeing that you were all quite fluent in the language of the southern court and how it held insults behind compliments, or simple statements.

Like that one.

“Such admirers can affect a lady in a certain way,” the queen added. “Like excess pride. You and your friend should be careful.”

So now not only were your looks exaggerated, but you and Margaery were both arrogant.

Very well.

If she came all this way to your home to insult you and your best friend, you could play the game.

“Both my best friend and I look up to you as the pinnacle of humility, we grew up with the tales of your beauty, Your Grace,” you said airily. “Back when we were little girls, that was all we would hear from King’s Landing. To this day, I still remember how many admirers you used to have back in the day. I’m sure you’re delighted that his majesty relieved you of them, even after so many years!”

The tiny twitch of her lips reminded you of a snarl, but it was gone as fast as it came.

“Well,” she said after a beat. “I hope that you and your husband will be as happy as me and the king have been.”

The same king who had spent the majority of the feast drunk with another woman in his lap.

Sure.

She could keep hoping, Robb would never do that to you.

“I’m sure it would please you, Your Grace,” you said with a bright smile and she held your gaze in hers, then gave you a curt nod, signaling you could leave. You dropped a curtsy straight down with your head held high, then walked away from the High Table to join your ladies-in-waiting.

“The queen does not look happy,” Lyra murmured and Jorelle raised her brows, stealing a look at the table.

“Would you be?” she asked. “If my husband humiliated me like that…”

“I will never wed.”

“You might have to,” Barbrey said and Lyra shrugged her shoulders.

“Not really. I’m not the heir, I have no such responsibilities. One of my sisters has two children, she was never wed.”

“Bear Island has different customs than the rest of the North,” Wylla said. “If my father tried to wed me to someone like the king, I’d run away.”

“She’s still the queen,” Barbrey said and Wylla shook her head.

“I’m too northern to accept such disrespect.”

“By the way, have any of you talked to her ladies-in-waiting?”

“I’ve been avoiding them like the plague.”

“Well, I’ve talked to them, and…”

The rest of Alys’ words disappeared into a buzz when the familiar feeling hit you, making you frown slightly. Your theory was that it was instinct for ladies of the court, you just learned to notice when men were looking at you even without a glance in their direction. Perhaps it was habit, perhaps it was a way to survive, but you knew when they were watching.

And sure enough, when you turned your head, you found Robb, Lord Stark, the king and Prince Joffrey all looking in your direction. Robb did not look happy for some reason, he had his jaw clenched while he listened to the king, and Prince Joffrey scowled before his eyes found mother and his frown deepened, as if she had done something of great offense. You let a lovesick smile light up your face as you waved at Robb without sparing the rest of them a glance, and that seemed to snap him out of his mood, that familiar soft light appearing in his gaze as he lifted his cup a little to greet you. The king said something and smacked him on the back, letting out a boisterous laugh and you lingered there for a moment, then rolled your shoulders back.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” you said and walked away from your ladies to approach the men on the other side of the hall.

“Your Graces, my lord,” you greeted the king, the prince and Lord Stark, then beamed at Robb and turned to them. “May I please borrow my lord husband for a minute if you don’t mind?”

The king laughed.

“Oh he stopped listening to us the moment you looked his way,” he said. “But that’s how a newlywed must be, huh Robb? Your father used to have the same look on his face whenever you looked at your mother.”

“Robert, come on now,” Lord Stark said and the king grinned.

“You did,” he insisted while you laced your fingers through Robb’s. “The same tortured look, even when I dragged you to hunts! That’s how you know it’s a good match.”

 “Speaking of matches, I’ve heard the happy news,” you told Prince Joffrey with a smile. “I’m certain you and our beautiful Sansa will be as happy as we are, Your Grace.”

Prince Joffrey didn’t seem delighted at all, his eyes finding his mother again before forcing himself to smile.

 “Thank you, my lady.”

“Anyway, as I was saying, the whole North is talking of that duel! The future Warden of the North is a great fighter just like his father!”

A shadow crossed Prince Joffrey’s face but you paid him no mind.

“I’m glad the whole North is entertained, but I was rather terrified,” you said, leaning sideways to Robb’s arm and he pressed a kiss on top of your head as if trying to soothe you at the mention of the duel.

“You had nothing to worry about, I told you that,” Robb muttered into your hair and you shot him a mischievous look.

“The love of my life putting himself in danger scares me, that’s no crime,” you said, earning a chuckle from the king. “Is it, Your Grace?”

“Not at all,” the king said. “Even the strongest men are defeated by love more than sword, my boy. Great warrior or not, you might want to keep that in mind.”  

“I will, Your Grace.”

“If you’ll excuse us please.”

Robb followed you as you both crossed the Great Hall, still holding your hand tight until you stopped and turned to him. He seemed rather tense, frowning at Prince Joffrey who had just approached the queen to mutter something to her ear with a sour expression. You raised your brows, watching Robb grab a cup from one of the servants before he took a sip, still glaring at the High Table.

“Is everything alright?”

His attention snapped back to you. “Mm hm.”

“Are you certain?” you asked. “What were you all talking about before I approached?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

Though you wanted to insist, you decided otherwise. “Have you had the chance to talk to your father yet?”

“About?”

“About Sansa!” you whispered. “If she can stay a bit longer.”

“I mentioned it, he said no.” Robb shrugged his shoulders. “And I’ve told you, he’ll keep an eye on her. She’ll be safe.”

You pursed your lips before taking a deep breath.

“Alright, then I’ll send a letter to Margaery first thing in the morning,” you said. “She’s in King’s Landing, she should be able to help Sansa.”

He tilted his head.

“Margaery Tyrell?”

“Do you know another Margaery?”

“Your best friend whom you’re angry at?”

“It doesn’t matter whether I’m angry at her or not,” you said. “At the end of the day, I trust her with my life. We both know what’s important and when to put aside disagreements, she’s never going to deny me if I ask her for a favor.”

“Even after what happened?”

“Don’t underestimate her loyalty to me, or mine to her,” you said. “Trust me. If I need help, she’ll help.”

“I’ll never understand you two,” he muttered. “And I still think you’re worrying for nothing and Sansa will be fine, but very well. Write to her if it’ll put your heart at ease.”

“Hey.” Jon’s voice reached you and you looked over your shoulder to find him smiling. The sight seemed to have taken Robb by surprise as much as you, because he scoffed a laugh.

“Did Theon get maimed?” he asked. “How come you’re smiling?”

“Uncle Benjen is here.”

Robb’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Wait, Benjen Stark does exist?” you asked, looking between him and Jon, and Robb nodded fervently.

“Our uncle. He’s the First Ranger of the Night’s Watch.”

You were guessing that was an impressive title in the North, from the proud tone of Robb’s voice.

“Come,” Robb added. “I must introduce you to him, he’s amazing.”

“I mean to be honest, I doubt introductions are needed,” you pointed out, drawing chuckles out of both brothers. “I feel like I know him already.”

“Yeah, maybe—” Robb paused. “Maybe don’t mention the…”

“Name issue?” you asked and exchanged glances with Jon who all but read your mind, because you both shook your heads at the same time.

“No way.”

“Aye, he’s gonna hear it. If not from her, then from me.”

You were trying to choose between two pairs of earrings when Robb walked into your bedchambers, and you had to do a double-take to realize it was not a stranger who barged in, but your husband. You gasped, your hands shooting up to cover your mouth.

“What happened to your beard?!”

“My mother made me shave it,” he grumbled while you gawked at him. “For the king’s arrival.”

You had never seen Robb without a beard; he always had either a stubble or a very short beard, so this was the first time you were seeing him clean-shaven. Though he was handsome as always with his sharp jawline which was even more prominent without a beard, the sight felt rather strange to you, and it took you a couple of seconds to understand the reason. A huff of laughter escaped you, muffled by your hands before you lowered them.

“You look like a Reach knight!”

The way his expression turned from annoyed to complete and utter betrayal could’ve made a simple observer think you had just insulted him. He let out a displeased exhale through his nose, then strode past you to approach your mirror like it could magically grow his beard back if he glared at his reflection hard enough.

“I do not understand why she insists so much,” he mumbled while you tilted your head, watching him in the mirror with your arms crossed. “A northman cannot be without his beard, it’s just not right.” 

You covered your laughter by clearing your throat and plopped down on the bed, a grin curling your lips.

“Recite me a poem,” you demanded, and he turned around to scowl at you.

“I don’t know any.”

“You look like you do,” you said airily. “Can you sing, at least? Play any instruments? Almost every knight in the Reach can.”

“I’m no Reach knight,” he grumbled. “And it’ll grow back.”

“Are you saying that to me or yourself?”

He took another look at his reflection, running a hand over his face.

“I look like a boy.”

“A handsome Reach boy,” you chirped, earning an annoyed glare in return.  

“Don’t.”

You held up your hands in a mock of surrender before you pushed yourself off the bed.

“Well, I must go,” you said. “Lady Stark needed me today, so I’ll leave you and my mirror alone.”

“Wait—” He caught up with you to grab your wrist so that he could pull you closer, drawing a giggle out of you. You playfully slipped your wrist out of his grasp with a gasp, feigning shock.

“I’m very offended by you daring to believe I’d kiss you,” you said with a hand on your chest. “As handsome as you are, I’ll have you know I’m very loyal to my husband.”

“I am your husband!”

You made a noise of disagreement.

“My husband has a beard,” you pointed out, taking a step back. “You appear to be one of the knights who used to follow me around in the ballroom begging for a dance.”

Well, that wasn’t entirely true; none of those knights were as handsome as Robb was, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Learn a poem in the meantime,” you told him, walking backwards to the door. “Or grow your beard back. Whichever is faster.”

With that, you walked out of the room and left him there, your laughter echoing in the hallway.

Though you both had very different trainings, it was times like these you could see that Lady Stark was in fact raised in the south.

Being the lady of the castle—especially when the said castle was Winterfell—came with so many responsibilities. Hosting guests was not only duty but also an art, which she pulled off flawlessly, even before the guests were there. The bedchambers, the feast, the entertainment, it was all ready the moment you got the news that the king would be arriving today. There were direwolf banners hanging in and outside the castle, and by the time you and the Starks gathered in the yard, you could already hear the sound of the horses approaching.

You had picked a pearly gray silk gown for the day, to blend in with the rest of the family, with your pelt thrown over your shoulders. Jon wasn’t allowed to stand with the family per Lady Stark’s orders, and it had put Robb in a rather sullen mood that he only snapped out of at the sight of Arya rushing to cross the yard with a helmet on her head. Lord Stark quickly pulled it off of her head and sent her to go stand between Sansa and Bran. You were right beside Robb, your hand in his while he caressed the back of your hand with his thumb almost absentmindedly, making you bite back a smile before you looked over your shoulder to steal a glance at your ladies-in-waiting in the crowd.

You hadn’t met the king or the queen before, and it had been on purpose, thanks to Silas and your father. The king’s many affairs with other women was not unheard of throughout the realm, and two years ago, around the time that title of yours started being thrown around, he and the queen had visited the Reach. A week before that, per Silas’ counsel and your father’s orders, you weren’t allowed to go outside so that when you missed the feast in King’s honor, the whole Reach thought you had been too sick to join any feast the whole week. The reason was simple; neither your father nor Silas wanted to risk the possibility of you catching the king’s interest, seeing that if you did, there would be so little that they could do except send you to Dorne to keep you safe and away from the most powerful man of the realm.

Though many families in the Reach would be delighted at the idea of their daughter catching the king’s eye and elevating their status, your family loved you way too much to put you in a situation where you would be forced to be a mistress.

But thankfully, you were safe now.

Not that the married women were safe in the southern court, especially from the king. However, you were Robb’s wife now, the future Lady of Winterfell, and nobody, not even the king, could risk the wrath of House Stark and the North by crossing a line.

You were probably the safest lady in the whole realm.

You snapped out of your thoughts when the horsemen passed the gates and entered the yard, a young boy that could only be a couple years older than Sansa—the prince, if you had to guess— at the front. Sansa sighed beside you, making Robb turn to her and then frown at the boy who gave Sansa a smirk, and you had to bite back your smile.

Of course Sansa would admire the prince.

The queen’s carriage entered the yard as well, followed by the Kingsguard and the king, whom you only recognized because of the crown. He was a heavy man with a serious look on his face, his eyes darting around the yard as his horse stopped and his squire rushed to help him dismount. Lord Stark bent a knee, the rest of the family and the whole yard following him suit, and it was only when the king motioned at him to rise that he stood up, all of you doing the same.

The king held Lord Stark’s gaze. “You got fat.”

You blinked a couple of times, holding your breath to see what Lord Stark would say, but he only lowered his eyes to the king’s stomach before raising his brows at him, as if returning the statement without so much as a word. The king burst into laughter, making Lord Stark smile as well before he pulled him into a hug.

…Gods, you were never going to understand men’s humor or their idea of friendship.

“Cat!” he greeted Lady Stark with a happy smile, hugging her as well. Sansa was still staring at the prince, and you leaned closer to her so that Robb couldn’t hear your whisper.

“You might want to pretend to be a little more nonchalant, my sweet.”

Sansa gave you an abashed smile while the king and Lord Stark exchanged words.

“Do you think he finds me beautiful?”

“Of course he does,” you whispered back, watching the queen step out of the carriage. She was beautiful, the displeasure on her face wasn’t enough to take away from it, and she looked around the yard before her eyes stopped on you.

“You must be Robb.” The king shook Robb’s hand before his eyes found you. “And the newest member of the family, I assume. The tales of your beauty weren’t lying, my lady.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” you accepted the compliment with a well-practiced graceful smile. The queen approached Lord Stark who kissed her hand, but everyone’s attention turned to the king in a second when he spoke:

“Take me to your crypt, I want to pay my respects.”

“We’ve been riding for a month, my love,” the queen said kindly, and you had to wonder for a second whether everyone else could hear just how forced it sounded or just you. “Surely the dead can wait.”

The king didn’t even spare her a glance.

“Ned,” he said curtly before he walked away, and Lord Stark followed him into the Keep.

…Ah.

The crypt.

Where Lord Stark’s sister who was also the king’s alleged true love laid in her eternal sleep.

The Queen looked like she wanted to argue, but her brother touched her arm as if signaling her to stop talking, and you averted your eyes, making yourself busy with your bracelet.

It was one of the many things you and Margaery were taught when you were little.

If someone above your rank was insulted or ignored in front of you, you never saw it.

Lord Stark and the king spent almost an hour in the crypts while the queen retired to her bedchambers to rest. It seemed that Lord Stark had much to speak with the king, because Robb had come to find you in the yard around an hour before the feast, clearly released from his father’s solar. You quickly dismissed your ladies-in-waiting so that you could speak freely at the far corner of the yard, and to be completely honest, the way you two sat was not appropriate at all; rather than sitting across from one another, you had your back against his chest, his arms wrapped around you while he nuzzled to your hair.

It had been rather peaceful, at least until a moment ago.

“A betrothal?” you repeated, craning your neck to look up at him. “Between Sansa and…”

“Prince Joffrey,” Robb finished your sentence for you, letting out a displeased noise as you pulled out of his arms to turn to see him better. “Don’t—”

“And Lord Stark said yes?”

“Sansa would cry for the rest of her life if he did not,” Robb said with a grimace. “She is in love already, and they haven’t even talked to each other yet. My mother talked my father into it, he will take the girls with him when he goes to King’s Landing to be the Hand.”

A frown pinched your forehead while Robb’s fingers drew shapes in your palm absentmindedly.

“Robb, I don’t think…”

Gods, how were you going to approach this?

You had to walk a very thin line here. You couldn’t risk anyone think you were trying to sabotage Sansa’s future, especially when the root of your worries was her future. Sansa was the sweetest girl ever, and you were certain she would grow up to be the loveliest lady and queen, but it was because of that you weren’t as excited as Lady Stark about this union.

Sansa was too sweet and naive for King’s Landing.

Not to mention, you knew nearly nothing about Prince Joffrey. There was a reason why it had taken Silas so much time to make a decision about your husband, marriage couldn’t be decided in a haste. Granted the king and Lord Stark were friends, but it didn’t mean their children would form a good union, and the moment they wed, Sansa would be bound to Prince Joffrey forever, regardless of how strong her house was.

And this was yet another time you were thankful to the gods for Silas and the rest of your family.

Those rules didn’t apply to you.

“What is it?” Robb asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. You opened your mouth and closed it again, then took a deep breath.

“Sansa is very young still.”

“Oh they won’t wed right away,” Robb said. “They’ll wait until my father deems it the right time. Sansa will just be in King’s Landing in the meantime, with Arya.”

You stole a look at the rest of the yard, deep in thought.

“Well, perhaps…” You paused. “Perhaps if they won’t wed right away, Sansa could stay here a bit longer so that I can teach her things.”

“Like what?”

“Like how to survive in the southern court.”

He huffed a laugh. “Oh come on.”

“Robb, I’m serious.”

“My father will be with her, she’ll be fine.”

“Your father cannot save her from everything,” you said. “Nor can he help her in everything, especially when it comes to the south. It’s a different world than here, and please don’t get me wrong, but Sansa still believes in fairytales. She must learn know how to—”

You stopped yourself and Robb pulled his brows together.

“How to what?”

Manipulate people.

It was beyond you how no one had given her the necessary training, especially if the southern court had been a possibility all along. You were rather sheltered and very much aware of it, but when it came to southern court games and wielding power, you and Margaery were given a very strict education.

Although you falling in love was unexpected, your husband falling in love with you had always been the plan.

“The southern court is an incredibly dangerous place,” you told him. “I fear she might not be ready for it just yet. If she stays here a little longer—”

“Nothing bad will happen to her in the southern court,” he assured you. “My father and the king are close as brothers.”

“Which is wonderful, but think about it,” you insisted. “Silas didn’t make our union happen because of my father and yours. He made it, because he approved you above all that. Does your father know Prince Joffrey? Do you? Beyond the fact that he will sit the Iron Throne once his father passes?”

“He can’t do anything to Sansa,” Robb brushed you off. “Sansa is a Stark.”

You caught the sight of the queen’s brother Jaime Lannister and Prince Joffrey stepping out of the keep into the yard, then huffed out.

“Can you please ask your father either way?” you asked. “If she can stay here for a moon or two?”

His eyes softened as he cupped your cheek gently, then dipped his head to give you the sweetest kiss, making your heart skip a beat. A giggle escaped you, your cheeks growing hot.

“We’re in public!”

“And we’re on our honeymoon,” he defended himself while you dragged your fingertip over the snarling wolf clasps on his doublet before you buried your face to his chest where his laugh rumbled deep. He pressed a kiss on top of your head, his hand still cradling your cheek.

“But you’ll ask?” you insisted and he heaved a sigh.

“I’ll ask,” he said. “Happy?”

“Very,” you chirped as you lifted your head to beam at him. “Thank you!”

He held your gaze in his, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb.

“I’ll never be able to tell you no, will I?” he asked and you scrunched up your nose, then grinned.

“Probably not,” you said airily. “But then again, why would you want to?”

That drew a chuckle out of him, and he shook his head as if he couldn’t believe himself.

“Aye,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you again. “Why would I want to indeed?”

Thanks to Lady Stark, the feast was going perfectly.

And everyone was having fun. Sansa was over the moon with the news, and she had made you promise that you would lend her one of your gowns for her to wear in the King’s Landing, so that she could impress the ladies there. Though you wanted to say it would take more than a gown, you decided not to say anything until Robb asked Lord Stark, so instead you assured her that you would help her with choosing the perfect gown and jewelry so that she would make an impeccable first impression on the southern court. Just until a moment ago that you and Robb were sitting at one of the tables among your peers, drinking and laughing, but when Arya threw food at Sansa’s dress, Lady Stark had shot him a look that clearly said to step in, so that the royal family wouldn’t notice the chaos that was about to erupt. Robb heaved a sigh and kissed your temple before he made his way to Arya and lifted her out of her seat, telling her it was time for bed. Arya pouted, but one gentle push from Robb made her start walking, and they both left the Great Hall so that he could tuck her in.

Watching Robb take care of his siblings never failed to make your chest all warm. He knew how to handle all of them, adapting a softer approach with Sansa and Bran while roughhousing Arya and Rickon who loved it. For a moment, you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering off, so you found yourself imagining what a great father he would make one day, to your own kids.

You knew it was too early, you still couldn’t tell whether you were ready, especially with your mother’s fate, yet the simple image of him with a baby made you smile.

You wondered whether they would take after him or you. Or perhaps they would be the perfect combination of you both—

“My lady.” Alys’ voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “Lady Stark and the queen ask for you, I think.”

You turned your head to take a look at the High Table where only Lady Stark and the queen sat—everyone else had scattered around the Great Hall. Lady Stark nodded at you and you pushed your chair back.

“Thank you Alys,” you whispered and stood up, then made your way to the High Table. You swept a well-trained curtsy, then straightened up and smiled at them, clasping your hands in front of you.

“Your Grace,” you said. “Lady Stark.”

“Hello my dear.”

“I wanted to see the infamous Blossom of the Reach,” the queen said, making your smile wider. “Everyone sings your praises, even miles away.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” 

“Including your best friend,” she said, making your head whip up. “Margaery Tyrell. She is dazzling the capital as we speak.”

And judging by the tone of her voice, she was not happy about that.

You would’ve been lying if you said it was unexpected. Margaery never feared anyone, no matter their social standing.

“As she dazzled the Reach,” you said. “I’m sure she flourishes in King’s Landing.”

“Do remind me, who had more admirers in the Reach? You or her?”

The attempt was nearly pitiful, and you had to hold back your laughter. This wasn’t new, the way people would try to sow discord between you and Margaery so that you would turn against each other and become rivals for—

For what?

Attention?

The queen wasn’t the first, nor would she be the last to find out your and Margaery’s bond ran too deep to get harmed by such comments. Margaery could be crowned the most beautiful girl in the realm tomorrow—in your opinion, she deserved it—, and you would be cheering her at the top of your lungs. She could be the queen, and you would be the first to bow down; there was no possibility of you turning bitter for her accomplishments and happiness, you loved her way too much for that.

And it was mutual too. Margaery never held contempt for you even when that title started being thrown around in the Reach, instead she fueled it, so that even more people would talk about it.

There was nothing anyone could do to make you and Margaery turn into enemies, no matter how much they tried.

“Oh, one stops counting after a while,” you said with a laugh. “It was rather hard for us to keep track of it, but the last I remember she had poems and I had songs. You would have to ask her though.”

“The Reach does love its songs, does it not?” the queen asked. “Just as singers love their embellishments, I’d say.”

…Ah.

Well, alright then.

There were only three people in this hall who could tell what that veiled comment really meant; the queen herself, Lady Stark, and you, seeing that you were all quite fluent in the language of the southern court and how it held insults behind compliments, or simple statements.

Like that one.

“Such admirers can affect a lady in a certain way,” the queen added. “Like excess pride. You and your friend should be careful.”

So now not only were your looks exaggerated, but you and Margaery were both arrogant.

Very well.

If she came all this way to your home to insult you and your best friend, you could play the game.

“Both my best friend and I look up to you as the pinnacle of humility, we grew up with the tales of your beauty, Your Grace,” you said airily. “Back when we were little girls, that was all we would hear from King’s Landing. To this day, I still remember how many admirers you used to have back in the day. I’m sure you’re delighted that his majesty relieved you of them, even after so many years!”

The tiny twitch of her lips reminded you of a snarl, but it was gone as fast as it came.

“Well,” she said after a beat. “I hope that you and your husband will be as happy as me and the king have been.”

The same king who had spent the majority of the feast drunk with another woman in his lap.

Sure.

She could keep hoping, Robb would never do that to you.

“I’m sure it would please you, Your Grace,” you said with a bright smile and she held your gaze in hers, then gave you a curt nod, signaling you could leave. You dropped a curtsy straight down with your head held high, then walked away from the High Table to join your ladies-in-waiting.

“The queen does not look happy,” Lyra murmured and Jorelle raised her brows, stealing a look at the table.

“Would you be?” she asked. “If my husband humiliated me like that…”

“I will never wed.”

“You might have to,” Barbrey said and Lyra shrugged her shoulders.

“Not really. I’m not the heir, I have no such responsibilities. One of my sisters has two children, she was never wed.”

“Bear Island has different customs than the rest of the North,” Wylla said. “If my father tried to wed me to someone like the king, I’d run away.”

“She’s still the queen,” Barbrey said and Wylla shook her head.

“I’m too northern to accept such disrespect.”

“By the way, have any of you talked to her ladies-in-waiting?”

“I’ve been avoiding them like the plague.”

“Well, I’ve talked to them, and…”

The rest of Alys’ words disappeared into a buzz when the familiar feeling hit you, making you frown slightly. Your theory was that it was instinct for ladies of the court, you just learned to notice when men were looking at you even without a glance in their direction. Perhaps it was habit, perhaps it was a way to survive, but you knew when they were watching.

And sure enough, when you turned your head, you found Robb, Lord Stark, the king and Prince Joffrey all looking in your direction. Robb did not look happy for some reason, he had his jaw clenched while he listened to the king, and Prince Joffrey scowled before his eyes found mother and his frown deepened, as if she had done something of great offense. You let a lovesick smile light up your face as you waved at Robb without sparing the rest of them a glance, and that seemed to snap him out of his mood, that familiar soft light appearing in his gaze as he lifted his cup a little to greet you. The king said something and smacked him on the back, letting out a boisterous laugh and you lingered there for a moment, then rolled your shoulders back.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” you said and walked away from your ladies to approach the men on the other side of the hall.

“Your Graces, my lord,” you greeted the king, the prince and Lord Stark, then beamed at Robb and turned to them. “May I please borrow my lord husband for a minute if you don’t mind?”

The king laughed.

“Oh he stopped listening to us the moment you looked his way,” he said. “But that’s how a newlywed must be, huh Robb? Your father used to have the same look on his face whenever you looked at your mother.”

“Robert, come on now,” Lord Stark said and the king grinned.

“You did,” he insisted while you laced your fingers through Robb’s. “The same tortured look, even when I dragged you to hunts! That’s how you know it’s a good match.”

 “Speaking of matches, I’ve heard the happy news,” you told Prince Joffrey with a smile. “I’m certain you and our beautiful Sansa will be as happy as we are, Your Grace.”

Prince Joffrey didn’t seem delighted at all, his eyes finding his mother again before forcing himself to smile.

 “Thank you, my lady.”

“Anyway, as I was saying, the whole North is talking of that duel! The future Warden of the North is a great fighter just like his father!”

A shadow crossed Prince Joffrey’s face but you paid him no mind.

“I’m glad the whole North is entertained, but I was rather terrified,” you said, leaning sideways to Robb’s arm and he pressed a kiss on top of your head as if trying to soothe you at the mention of the duel.

“You had nothing to worry about, I told you that,” Robb muttered into your hair and you shot him a mischievous look.

“The love of my life putting himself in danger scares me, that’s no crime,” you said, earning a chuckle from the king. “Is it, Your Grace?”

“Not at all,” the king said. “Even the strongest men are defeated by love more than sword, my boy. Great warrior or not, you might want to keep that in mind.”  

“I will, Your Grace.”

“If you’ll excuse us please.”

Robb followed you as you both crossed the Great Hall, still holding your hand tight until you stopped and turned to him. He seemed rather tense, frowning at Prince Joffrey who had just approached the queen to mutter something to her ear with a sour expression. You raised your brows, watching Robb grab a cup from one of the servants before he took a sip, still glaring at the High Table.

“Is everything alright?”

His attention snapped back to you. “Mm hm.”

“Are you certain?” you asked. “What were you all talking about before I approached?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

Though you wanted to insist, you decided otherwise. “Have you had the chance to talk to your father yet?”

“About?”

“About Sansa!” you whispered. “If she can stay a bit longer.”

“I mentioned it, he said no.” Robb shrugged his shoulders. “And I’ve told you, he’ll keep an eye on her. She’ll be safe.”

You pursed your lips before taking a deep breath.

“Alright, then I’ll send a letter to Margaery first thing in the morning,” you said. “She’s in King’s Landing, she should be able to help Sansa.”

He tilted his head.

“Margaery Tyrell?”

“Do you know another Margaery?”

“Your best friend whom you’re angry at?”

“It doesn’t matter whether I’m angry at her or not,” you said. “At the end of the day, I trust her with my life. We both know what’s important and when to put aside disagreements, she’s never going to deny me if I ask her for a favor.”

“Even after what happened?”

“Don’t underestimate her loyalty to me, or mine to her,” you said. “Trust me. If I need help, she’ll help.”

“I’ll never understand you two,” he muttered. “And I still think you’re worrying for nothing and Sansa will be fine, but very well. Write to her if it’ll put your heart at ease.”

“Hey.” Jon’s voice reached you and you looked over your shoulder to find him smiling. The sight seemed to have taken Robb by surprise as much as you, because he scoffed a laugh.

“Did Theon get maimed?” he asked. “How come you’re smiling?”

“Uncle Benjen is here.”

Robb’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Wait, Benjen Stark does exist?” you asked, looking between him and Jon, and Robb nodded fervently.

“Our uncle. He’s the First Ranger of the Night’s Watch.”

You were guessing that was an impressive title in the North, from the proud tone of Robb’s voice.

“Come,” Robb added. “I must introduce you to him, he’s amazing.”

“I mean to be honest, I doubt introductions are needed,” you pointed out, drawing chuckles out of both brothers. “I feel like I know him already.”

“Yeah, maybe—” Robb paused. “Maybe don’t mention the…”

“Name issue?” you asked and exchanged glances with Jon who all but read your mind, because you both shook your heads at the same time.

“No way.”

“Aye, he’s gonna hear it. If not from her, then from me.”